Forever, Darling (Or Whatever Suits You)
by TARossum
Summary: A sequel to Trust Me, Darling. With unpredictable Dean, loving-hating Renee, interfering Seth, and a voice of reason, Roman. This is not about destiny anymore.
1. Chapter 1

"Fourty-five minutes. She's forty-five minutes late. Where is she? _Where is she?_"

He looked around. Again. There were so many people that no matter who he'd be trying to spot in the crowd, failure was certain. And the music . . . it just made it worse, serving as a distraction. Taking his mind off important things and making him focus on how it was loud and annoying.

"I need to call her."

Seth placed his hands on Dean's shoulders in an attempt to calm him, but Dean shook them off almost immediately. He was too determined; already making the call.

Seth waited about five seconds before a necessary comment. "What is it, fourth, fifth missed call?"

"Third," Dean let him know. There was no need for making Dean a compulsively obsessed freak. But then again, he was keeping count, and he wouldn't stop even at the fourteenth. He mumbled, "I hope she's got a good excuse. . . ." Appearance lied. In fact, he wasn't as angry as he was seriously disappointed. Not that he cared about this masquerade. However, he had enough courtesy to come, that being said, so she should have too. In fact, she should have been the one waiting for him at the entrance. But no, clearly making him wait was the way to go, according to her.

Then he realized there actually could have been a reason, a legitimate reason, for her absence. "What if something happened to her?" he said. Horror appeared in his eyes.

At that point Seth left. Dean again dialed her number . . . he actually typed the number in, as if that would make any difference. "Come on, pick it up . . . _please_," he insisted. Worrying changed his attitude. Anger gave way to preoccupation.

A sigh came when it went to voice mail. Another failed attempt.

"Dean," somebody called his name.

"What?" he snapped.

"Would you like to take part in your own party?"

Dean calmed down first, then said, "Sure. Yeah. Just give me a minute."

"Is something wrong?" It was Kofi who was asking.

Dean sighed and looked around again. No, she hasn't magically appeared. "Renee's not here."

"Huh," was his only reaction. Except for adding, "Well. . . ." Without finishing the thought, he walked away. He seemed confused. Now he, too, was searching the crowd.

But Dean didn't give a damn about where that guy was going. All that mattered to him was that he had no clue where his girlfriend was. And it sucked because she was the only person he actually wanted to spend his birthday with. Birthday or whatever . . . His real birthday was a couple of days ago, but what can you do when you have no time to celebrate it then. He wouldn't care about celebrating it at all, as a matter of fact, it was no big deal to him, but they insisted. He had no choice but to surrender and participate.

Now he felt betrayed. He agreed to this under the condition of her presence. Damn it, he should have made that demand public . . . and get her signature in case. But he thought it was given that she'd be there. Yet she was nowhere in sight.

After another attempt at a call – yes, it was the fifth time, okay? – he gave up. Either she's been ignoring him or she's away from her phone. The bottom line was he had no powers to get her to talk to him.

Seth was approaching him with a glass of wine in each hand. He handed him one, or more like made him take it. "Drink! Celebrate! Stop worrying already." He took him away from the crowd, into the corner near the food table. "Have you tried the goat-cheese stuffed mushrooms?"

"I'm not hungry," Dean replied. His tone was not very friendly, but then again, he did not try to hide the irritation.

Seth reconsidered his attitude. "Okay, Dean, stop being such a pain in the ass, and start entertaining you guests. What's the point of the party at all if you stand in the corner by yourself and the only activity that you are willing to be part of is self-pity?"

"You all wanted to get drunk, there's your reason for this party. So stop pouring drinks in me and find a company that's actually interested in getting wasted. I didn't want to be here anyway," Dean uttered, and headed for the exit.

Seth found himself uneasy. He knew the task assigned to him was difficult and time-restricted. He was checking the crowd and the area on the other side of the big hall. It was hard for him to see all the way down there, but clearly he found somebody involved in the organization and started a long-distance telepathic conversation. First though, Seth had to check how far did Dean get, if he managed to leave completely yet. Somebody stopped him – or at least slowed him down – so that gave Seth additional few seconds. He again focused on the guy on the other side of the room and raised his head up in a question that he knew the person would understand. He got a nod in response.

Then he walked fast to get to Dean. He just managed to prevent him from opening the door.

"So I'm being held hostage now?" Dean asked.

Seth did not react to the anger and annoyance on Dean's part. Instead, he started smiling. "Come with me," he advised him. "The cake's ready."

That elevated Dean's mood a bit. He had to make a little joke. "Have they been baking it till now?"

Dean let Seth guide him. The people started forming a way in the middle so that they could pass. Everybody wanted to get close to the area of current attention. Between the big speakers there awaited Dean's present. A huge birthday cake. Seth and Dean stopped in front of it.

Dean's mouth was slightly open. With suspicion he looked at Seth. A giant cake. Renee's nowhere in sight. . . . Please let there be Renee inside the cake, he made a wish.

Enthusiastically he waited what would happen. His eyes were sparkling. He believed he was right. She had to be inside; that was the most logical explanation for her absence. Also it was the only excuse he would accept.

His face started to shine like that of a little kid under the Christmas tree. The images that the nerves sent to brain were transformed into wild imagines. He was too impatient to not give in to the pressure.

Unfortunately, he was made to wait. Uncomfortable situation was on the list before the anticipated one. People were looking at him, all smiling, and he knew they meant well, but it looked as a scene from a horror movie. Seth took the role of a conductor, directing his improvised orchestra to create a masterpiece. That was strange too. Why was he so initiative and enthusiastic about being the center of the attention in such a non-wrestling – although full of wrestlers and people associated with wrestling – event? The answer did not matter at all. The fact was that people starting singing Happy Birthday. It would have made Dean uncomfortable, the way birthday boy or girl feels when all those people are singing and he has to sit through it, having nothing to do, but for Dean it was different. Watching the cake kept him busy. He observed, paying attention to such details as the frosting imperfections and the font they used to write Dean's name. However, what he really cared about was its inside. The way they would reveal the secret. Because, let's be honest, there had to be something inside that was meant to be a surprise.

The song ended. Now waiters starting going around, handing glasses of champagne to everyone. Dean was given one too. For a brief second he looked into the glass but then his eyes again set on the white-ish golden-ish cake.

"Dean," Seth called him. Surprisingly, he succeeded in getting Dean's hard-to-appease attention. Then Seth started focusing on the crowd instead of Dean, and that proved a fatal mistake. He lost Dean again. At least Seth did not care that much. He spoke to the guests, "As Dean's number one enemy –" Seth started his speech, but the conflict arose early on.

Bray deliberately coughed.

"Seriously?" Seth asked, taking it as a personal offence. "Dean and I have been enemies for longer –" Now he himself stopped, realizing it was not true. "But what we two have is much more intense, it's a passionate love-hate relationship. We're like Cain and Abel."

"Seth, let it go," Dean uttered to him, though hardly paying any attention to him.

Seth did. "Anyhow, I'd like to make a toast." Somebody indicated to Seth that he shouldn't make it unnecessarily long. "I just want to wish Happy Birthday to the guy who's not even looking at me," he added, in hope to change that. As if he could. "All I want to say is, never change. Or do. . . . Not that you'd ever listen to me."

Dean grinned.

"I wondered if you could be less egoistic, less moody, not such a maniac, and if you could do something about that arrogance," he named some suggestions.

"You're done?"

"No. Actually I have a list." And to show he was serious, he took out a sheet of paper from him pocket. He looked at it, appeared to be about to read it out loud but he didn't. Among other reasons, time was pushing him. "Well, consider it my present to you." He handed the paper to Dean. "You can go through it whenever you like."

Dean accepted the "present" but put it in his pocket, not thinking to ever take it out to read it.

"I've actually asked everybody here to make a list of a few ideas they had about what you could change about yourself. No pressure," Seth said to him casually. Somebody pushed a box toward Seth. Seth picked it up, mumbling, "Uh, it's heavy," and gave it to Dean.

"Thanks, everyone," Dean shouted to make sure even people far away from him heard him. "There are no words to describe what it means to me," he said. Then he turned to the right, made four or five steps and threw the box into the trash can. After all, actions speak louder than words.

Seth couldn't say Dean's reaction surprised him. To be fair, it was just a trick to see what happens.

Faking disappointment, Seth went to get the box. He put it down on the floor right in front of Dean. "The truth is," he started, holding a squat position and opening the box with a somewhat sharp knife. "There are no 'suggestions.'" He mimicked the quotation marks. "Ain't nobody got time for that." He waited till he managed to open the box. Then he gave Dean a chance to see what the box really contained.

"Rose petals?" Dean did not understand. Was that supposed to mean something?

"Dig deeper," Seth advised him.

Dean leaned to put the petals aside. At the bottom he revealed a simple sheet of recycled paper. There was something written on it. He read it out loud, although too quietly to allow wider audience to hear anything. "A gift certificate?"

Seth was smiling. Yep, that was it.

"For what?" Dean wanted to know.

It appeared that not even the guests at this party knew what this was about. However, it didn't seem very interesting anyway.

Seth patted Dean's shoulder, looked to his left at some guy, then pointed at the screen and a short movie made of embarrassing enough pictures of Dean started to play. A suitable music, light, playful, with joking undertone accompanied it.

Dean had no interest in watching the screen. Instead of repeating what others did he turned to Seth. A "gift certificate" in his hand. "What's this?" he asked, and demanded an explanation.

Before answering, Seth had to check if anybody was listening, then, when it felt safe, he spoke to Dean. Whispered, actually. "Trade," he said. He reached into his pocket. "You give me this." He took the paper that Dean was holding. "And I give you this." In an exchange, Seth handed him what appeared to be a walkie-talkie. Dean was far from having understood. What was he supposed to do with it?

"What's this?" he asked again. He found that this question had wide application.

"That is a device that will make everyone in this room hate you."

Dean's eyes kept watching Seth. "What?" The meaning was still escaping him.

The video was coming to an end. The final verse of the song was playing as well. Seth did not want the presentation to last long, just as he did not want to embarrass Dean much. All was aimed at creating that perfect moment where nobody would notice.

"Just press the button," Seth told Dean.

He did. Just in time. And the result? Enormous explosion. The cake was all over the room, destroying people's clothes, nor rarely expensive. Yes, that was what Seth meant when he said that everybody would hate Dean. But Dean did not care. He had cream in his hair, chocolate on his shirt, and there was even a smashed strawberry stain on his crotch. Nothing mattered.

It was all worth it. The result was amazing. Yes, there stood Renee. And no, neither she escaped the cake damage. Yet there could be hardly any talk about "damage" in her case, for all she wore was white underwear. Okay, that was not totally true. She was wearing a dress actually. White, laced, and more than fairly transparent. It was far from useful since it hardly covered her lady parts. Oh, and yes, she wore one more thing. Angel wings. She looked like an angel. A Victoria's Secret angel, to be precise. Or a snow queen. Either way, she looked gorgeous. Breathtaking.

Only after a minute of constant staring a conflict arose in Dean whether to appreciate the sight of a beautiful girl or to condemn it, for this was a perfect opportunity for everybody to see his girlfriend almost naked. The internal struggle was tough, but ultimately predator instincts won.

In a perfect silence she spoke. "Happy birthday," she said in an angelical voice as she walked toward him, not caring for stepping into Dean's birthday cake. When she was close enough for him to hear her whispering, she added, "The king of my heaven."

She offered her hand for him to take it. He did, but giving orders to his body was almost impossible. The brain was able to focus on one thing, one person, only. His angel.

They laced their fingers, in front of everybody. They shared private moment in a hug and a subsequent kiss. When he touched her back, he felt the goosebumps. He wondered if she were cold. In reality, excitement was the primary reason for the reaction.

Inside he couldn't stop smiling. On the outside, there appeared nothing. His nerves couldn't even deliver the message from brain to his lips. If only he could say _I love you_.

The way he was holding her sufficed to her. She knew he was happy. Surprised, as well.

She did the first step. She pronounced what he wanted but couldn't. "I love you."

Now the smile arrived. In response, he drew her closer to him, if it were possible, snuggled her in his arms and kissed her more passionately than the first time.

"I love you more," he finally said.

They were so thankful that nobody interrupted their private moment. As long as others remained quiet, neither Dean nor Renee cared about the audience.

After breaking the kiss, which got gentle at the end, Dean told her, "I love you, my little angel." Now he was coming back to his sense. He stepped back to view her again, more complexly this time. Astonishment did not go away, just . . . "You know what would improve your already almost perfect costume?" He looked down when he felt slight embarrassment over the self-centered suggestion. "A DA sign on the cups," he said.

Renee smiled, and the smile continued growing wider before she finally revealed, "There is a DA sign. But it would be inappropriate to show right here right now where it is." She added in a whisper dedicated only to his ear. "You'll have to look for it later."

His expression suggested he liked that. Now he just wished to be with her alone. But there were people all around, and they came because of him – okay, they didn't, but they pretended they did – so he had to spend some time with them.

After minutes of staring at her and her only, Dean looked away. The courage allowed him to see the expressions of people who witnessed the exhibition of affection they did not get to see very often. And it lasted, because Dean kept holding Renee's hand. He felt like never letting go.

Only now Dean realized why they were rewarded with silence, no interruption, no stupid jokes. Seth no more stood next to them.

First, it confused Dean. As before he searched the room for Renee, he now did the same for Seth. Yet he was not there. "Where's Seth?" Dean asked people standing closest to him.

"He left a couple of minutes ago," somebody gave him the answer.

"Why?"

At that point, he stopped asking. He stopped wondering. As well as he knew that nobody would reply to his second question, he knew that there was no need for it. It was pretty clear to him.

He turned to Renee, "I should go. . . ."

She knew what he meant, even without hearing the end of that sentence. She nodded in understanding.

That was when someone grabbed Dean's shoulder to get his attention. "I'll go check up on him. You stay here and enjoy the company of your lovely girl."

He liked how "your lovely girl" sounded. It made him smile. It made him very happy. He drew her closer to him again. This seemed to be the right time for suggesting that she put something on. His boyfriend instincts were waking up, and they did not like what they saw.

He offered her his jacket but she refused, saying, "I can go change." She knew she would have to, eventually.

"No, don't change," he opposed her idea. His voice sounded terrified, but in a cute way.

Renee smiled. She realized the solution would not come easily. "You don't like me wearing this but you don't want me to wear something else either. What do you want?" she asked him, still smiling.

As he leaned toward her ear, he whispered the evident answer. "I want to be alone with you." He hushed his voice even more. "And do things to you that would result in my ban from heaven. And yours as well," he playfully added.

Dean's words made her shiver. Now she really wished to be alone with him as well. However, the reward of absolute privacy would come only after sacrificing their immediate desires and spending at least half an hour in the company of their colleagues. Freedom was not free. But it should work out. Those people would get drunk soon. Then they can do whatever they like.

Most of the people were looking at Dean. Some in anger, some in anticipation of his speech.

Somebody turned the music down.

"So, am I getting a real cake?" Dean joked. Like he would give a speech. . . .

Apparently, he was. A waiter brought another cake. A smaller one that was not hiding any surprise. For some time that was enough explosions.

The new cake had candles – Dean preferred not to count them. He just approached the table where the waiter was finishing lighting up the candles. Guests encouraged Dean to make a wish,, but since his wish had already come true he had no need to make another one.

When he took a deep breath to blow them all at first try, he changed his mind. Instead of doing it the conventional way, he licked his fingers and manually extinguished the flame, candle by candle.

He noticed the confused looks on peoples' faces, to which he responded with simple, "What? I have my own way of doing things." He didn't give a damn about people's shaking heads. As long as Renee was smiling as a result of having been entertained, everything was fine.

Music got loader again. The partying was supposed to resume. First, though, the attending WWE personnel wanted to get those pieces of cakes from their clothes, their faces, and their hair. Waiters brought something to wipe it with but not everyone got a cloth. Therefore, some headed for the bathroom. So did Dean and Renee. While waiters were serving the birthday cake, Dean grabbed Renee's hand and took her away from the crowd. As they walked through the corridor in a hurry, Dean tried to push open every single door that appeared by his side. He found one bathroom that was, however, only for people working there. As if he cared. . . . They entered.

There was no lock, and they had no interest in entering a cubicle. Conditions were not perfect but they were good enough. They started making out on the spot. After the first wave of affection, the urgency of the connection gave way to playfulness. Dean dipped his finger in the cream that covered Renee's shoulder, then he put it on Renee's nose. She let him. And she let him subsequently lick her shoulder clean. "Umm, vanilla," he spoke.

"If you look for it, you'll find chocolate as well," she replied.

He loved the way she accepted his actions. She no longer found them weird; now they were cute. She hasn't got used to them, learned to live with Dean's peculiar behavior; she came to love them.

For a minute, Dean pretended to be looking for chocolate flavor, failing on purpose, until she licked the cake filling off Dean's neck. He waited to see what she would do. . . . She gave him a try. . . . And their tongues were interlocked again.

Without looking, Dean's hands tried to take off Renee's angel wings. When they succeeded, with Renee's assistance, they wondered what to do about the dress.

They got interrupted before the decision could be made. Well, better now than when somebody'd be naked.

A disturbance came from their colleague. Soon after Dean realized it was Jey, he shouted, "Authorized personnel only!"

"Hey! They said we could use this bathroom, too. But I see you two already are," he added humorously. As if the sole presence wasn't enough, he had to say, "Great outfit, by the way." With the grin on his face, he got pushed out the door.

For Renee this sufficed. "Thirty minutes. We can wait that long."

"Twenty-three. That's all I can promise."

Renee smiled, and picked up her wings. Then she opened the door and waited for Dean to walk out of the room. He lingered, but finally he did. She followed him.

His slow pace made her take the lead. Now Dean got chance to appreciate her look from behind. He loved what he saw but couldn't allow other people to see it. As a result, he took off his jacket and asked Renee to put it on. Although not with much enthusiasm, but finally she did. However, Dean had to admit it only made things worse. Sure, nobody could see her boobs anymore, but Dean gave people great chance to see her ass. And it was somehow more visible now. Or, better said, it attracted more attention. That skirt that she was wearing was useless. It was hiding literally nothing.

"You can't go there like this," he finally said what became clear to him a while ago. Besides, "You can't even be here wearing this." As a guardian he approached her and hid her from the view of passing people. But he knew that solution was only temporary.

Renee sighed. She knew it would come down to that. "I guess I'm changing then."

"No." That option was still unacceptable to him. What was the problem? If she took that sexy costume off, she wouldn't put it back on. And even if she did, it wouldn't have the same effect. Now it was perfect. If they were alone. Damned unfavorable circumstances.

"Well, I suppose in that case we're staying here forever."

Dean had to come up with something. The position they were holding – his body covering hers, her back pressed against the wall – was not ideal for curious passers-by. And it was not helping his 23-minute promise either.

The universe ceased to exist for him when he was looking into her hypnotizing eyes. Only his reflexes worked; brain didn't. That was why he almost punched the person tapping his shoulder. Not seeing who it was, it was Renee who grabbed Dean's arm and saved Dolph from having his nose broken.

Dean decreased the tension in his arm. It became powerless one second after she started holding it.

"I just wanted to ask if you're coming." It was logical that people wanted to see Dean at his party.

Renee answered for both of them. "We'll be right there."

That sufficed for Dolph to leave them alone again.

Renee returned to looking at Dean while Dean never stopped staring into her eyes. He put his right hand, the one she finally let go off, on her waist. He felt the strange fabric of her dress. There were holes in it; he did not understand. Small holes attracted him to try and see if his finger fits in there. Of course it didn't; they were far too small. But if he managed to get his fingernail in, he could . . . and he was tearing it now.

"Is there any reason why you're ruining my dress?" Renee asked. Maybe surprisingly, she didn't appear, and she wasn't, angry.

Dean did not stop. But he argued, "It's not a _dress_." It was far too revealing for that.

Renee gently placed her hand on Dean's fingers and got control of their movements. Dean did not protest. He was in some kind of haze. Hypnotized by the strange appearance of the fabric. But what had greater effect on him was the touch that rewarded his damage action. Her skin. The softness. The _please_ thoughts that intruded his mind again.

"Ok. Now I really have to change."

This time Dean did not object. He listened to her, yet somewhat distantly. He still focused on the revealed part of her waist with most of his senses.

"Will you be alright if I leave for five minutes?" She wanted an assurance because Dean's mind was a mystery to her right now.

Rather unexpectedly, he replied with a nod.

"Go back in there, and then I'll find you."

He lingered, not feeling like doing anything, just . . . he wanted to touch. He wanted . . .

She gave him a little push – a literal push – so that he'd move toward the grand hall where the main party was taking place. "Go," she ordered him nicely.

Dean nodded again. But did he even know what he was agreeing to?

He let her go. Slowly, patiently, she escaped his touch. One last smile and she was gone.

First, he looked to the left where the party was. He could hear the noise all the way there. Loud and annoying music, people chatting in a friendly manner or having a heated dispute over something stupid. He didn't care much for that. Then he looked to the right. The way she went. He could still smell the trace of her perfume.

The decision was an easy one. He chose to follow her. Fortunately for him, he encountered nobody who'd try to stop him and drag him into the center of what they called fun. The trip to the third floor was without problems. The desire supervised each his step. The brain had only a vague idea of what was happening. But it worked. He managed to get to her door. He knocked twice.

She opened the door immediately. She said nothing. Sort of ignoring him, or at least not making a big deal of his presence, she went back to her previous activity. Her clothes hasn't changed yet. Of course; she only entered the room shortly before Dean. "Are you coming in?" she finally asked Dean, who was still standing in the open door. It would not be pleasant if somebody happened to see her changing.

Seconds were passing but he hasn't moved one inch. She smiled at him as he watched her. "What?"

Dean kept observing. The perfume was stronger now, and it wasn't solely because of her being in the room. She has reapplied it. And so she did the lipstick. Actually, it appeared to be a different shade of pink. Strange how he noticed. Oh, and the cake was gone. She cleaned it all up. Her hair was combed but the glitters remained. The only thing that stayed the same was her dress. Which didn't seem to be the most logical thing because it's easier to wash yourself when you're not wearing anything. Dean put two and two together.

"You knew I would come."

She didn't try to prove him wrong. "Of course. You aren't that unpredictable."

She thought that now that they cleared that up he would finally get in and close the door. However, nothing would change until he gets one more answer.

"You wanted me to come."

Her eyes did not avoid the tense look. Her legs bravely moved toward the danger. She pulled him inside and closed the door. She stayed standing by the door, with him watching her every move. And her lips. They finally moved.

"Yes," she said quietly.

All returned to the beginning. She was leaning against the wall – or the door in this case – and he surrounded her. His left hand touched her waist, resuming the battle it had earlier with the dress. He located the hole he created and ripped it even more. She did not protest. The dress was ruined already. Why not have some more fun before throwing it away? It was a game to him. Not always an easy one, but finally he managed to rip it all apart. The next level was the underwear. But it was no real challenge.

"Have I told you that you look beautiful?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. And added, "Even if not, your look makes that clear."

"Sorry for staring."

Renee chuckled. "You keep doing that."

"I got an idea. How about closing your eyes?"

She looked away and smiled somewhat covertly. She had to ask. "What will you do? Kiss me?"

"Yes."

Finally she closed her eyes. Keeping his promise, subsequently he kissed her. Slowly, gently. As if they were surrounded by a crowd of people and didn't want to raise suspicion.

After some time he engaged his tongue as well. His hands kept securing her waist. Learning that she was cold, he stopped.

"What?" She did not understand.

"You're shaking."

He snuggled her in his arms as a means of giving her first aid. But that wouldn't sufficed, he was aware. He kissed her on her cheek. "I wish I could kiss the cold off you," he admitted as a joke to a certain extent.

"I'm not cold," she lied.

Her protesting would not be taken. Dean kept thinking. What were the options? Hot bath. Get under the sheets. He decided for a more challenging option. "I need to make you hot." For avoiding sounding it like an insult, he added, "Not that you aren't already extremely hot."

They returned to kissing. The difference was evident. No more patience. The kiss was urgent and filled with passion and desire. The message that the kiss delivered was clear: greater things were to come.

In the middle of it all, Dean realized what he was doing. Undergoing yet another challenge. It sounded stupid, and maybe even immature, but he believed he had the right age for these kind of games. And as long as she complied, as long as he fulfilled the promise, the way of achieving the goal did not matter.

But the road to victory was problematic. It was hard for him to work under the current situation. There was a need to start from the beginning. He took off his shirt and covered Renee in it. He tied the sleeves, so in the end, the shirt was hanging around her neck like a cape. More importantly, the loving gesture was ineffective. Maybe the instinctive actions of his body would deliver better than the propositions of his brain.

He was stroking her leg that was tied around him, however, it was difficult to judge the real purpose of this. But his lust and the need to keep her warm had to cooperate.

An idea popped into his head. He carried her into the bathroom. No, he would not drown her in the water. But he turned on the faucet and let the hot water fill the bathtub. Steam shortly gathered around them, and since it had nowhere to escape, it was trapped in the room with them. That should increase the temperature.

The mirror steamed up completely. The environment became inhospitable for him but she seemed to like it.

"Are you still cold?"

She shook her head no. He hesitated whether to believe her, but since he was about to burn, it would surprise him if she was still trembling from cold. She must have been telling the truth. She even threw the shirt away. They were too occupied to notice that it landed on the bathtub and one sleeve was deep in the water, which continued to flow. Hopefully, somebody would realize before it overflows.

They were distracted by each other's presence. And soon Dean got distracted by something else, something very specific yet hard to identify. It required a more attentive observation. But it was clear that something was hiding underneath her light-golden panties.

She noticed he was focusing on something other than the foreplay. That was okay. She was glad actually. Excited. Finally she got the chance to show him the surprise.

It was just on the right side of the groin region so moving the underwear down a bit fully sufficed to reveal the black ink. At last, he found the DA sign.

"Is it . . ." He had a question on his mind.

"Only temporal but yeah, it's a tattoo."

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed, clearly excited. "That's awesome."

She was content; her smile left little doubt about it. Now she knew it was worth it. Maybe she would even consider a permanent tattoo. . . .

Wanting to feel it, he touched it, really softly. Once there, he didn't feel like leaving that part of her body. And he had a strong desire to reconnect his lips with hers.

"You're amazing," he whispered, as he slipped his hand deeper in her already wet underwear. "No, you're not cold anymore," he said, knowing he was right.

"How could I be when I'm so close to hell?" was her reply, ended rather sharply and followed with a gasp. She spoke no more.

On the other hand, he still had words to address her. "You're the best birthday present I can imagine." She clearly wanted to reply somehow but he made it difficult for her to even stand on her own two feet. "And I know that it probably took a lot of effort to prepare the whole party downstairs, but all I really want is to be with you." How was he even able to formulate the sentences? "Not pretending, not answering some stupid question, and not faking a smile each time somebody wishes me happy birthday." Seriously, how he managed to hold up was a mystery to her. "My only birthday wish is to be with you. And make you happy." He was already working on that. When he leaned toward her ear and whispered the three magical words, her brain stopped functioning and body took charge. Dean knew what he needed to do. His attitude changed. The devil side of him contained the gentleman in him. "I'm keeping this fallen angel." She resembled one, since she lost the wings minutes ago. But there still was that angelical appearance. Although if she were an angel, she certainly was a naughty one. What kind of heavenly creature walks around in her underwear and sells her soul to the devil in exchange for a sexual pleasure?

She was already aware of her sins. "I've been banned from heaven. I better find a new home."

"_Home?_ No, hell's not your home. It's your prison."

Well, she didn't seem to care for that. Home or prison . . . as long as the devil was on her side, it was alright. Devil may have ruled the hell but he did not have absolute control over himself. That was the spot she occupied; queen of the king.

However, right now she was powerless. And it would take her some time to recover.

Now he finally stopped the water. Just in time. "The bath is ready," he joked, disregarding the fact that Renee was hardly paying attention.

In the meantime, he washed his hands, and get that chocolate, vanilla, and who knows what else off his face. There wasn't much, but he had more in his hair. That was supposed to be annoying, but who gave a damn.

As he was staring at his reflection in the mirror, wondering if there was a way to improve his appearance without too much effort, he noticed her standing behind him. She hugged him from behind and said, "It's your birthday, not mine."

The objection was not taken. Dean had his reasons, the most important summed up in, "Today is not my birthday."

"I know, but we're pretending that it is."

He turned around to face her. "Then take it as my expression of gratitude for your presents."

Renee smiled. "I haven't given you my birthday present yet."

"Hmm . . . so the party, the cake bomb, the naughty costume, the DA tattoo . . . those are not presents?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

The answer implied there might have been more.

"Is there another one?"

"Yes, there is. The main one." She hesitated when she realized there was one more, so she felt the need to explain to Dean, "And I don't mean the typical I'll-do-whatever-you-want. That goes without saying."

It suddenly occurred to Dean how lucky he was to celebrate his birthday twice. Double the presents, double the privileges of a birthday boy. "I should have birthday more often," he joked.

Renee countered, "Once a year is enough. Remember that there is also Christmas, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day. . . ."

"Can I get a special treatment every time I win a match?"

She chuckled. "You already do. Even if you lose. And especially when they carry you off on stretcher."

"Maybe I should fake those injuries more often," he changed the plan, to much disapproval of his girlfriend who worried about him fake or not. To change the topic, he asked about his birthday present. "So what do I get? And where is it?" He started looking around, just pretending to be impatiently searching for it, even though he knew very well she had it hidden somewhere, but certainly not in the bathroom.

"It's downstairs. Among the other gifts."

"Oh." So he would have to return, after all. "Well, at this time most people will be drunk anyway," he concluded.

Renee joked, "That's the spirit. Seriously." She laughed. "It's your party and you're not even there."

"Should I tell you again how these people can kiss my ass?"

"Come on. Don't be so ungrateful."

There was a need for explanation to avoid being taken for a jerk. "All I'm saying is if it's them or you, it's you. If it's nobody or you, it's you. And if it's me or you, it's you again."

She saw right through him. "You're not getting out of it. You have to go there. Dedicate those people at least five minutes of your precious time."

"But that would mean five minutes less with you," he objected.

"I'll be there as well."

In fact, he had no problem being around some drunk people making corny joked about how old he was and shit, it's just that there were better things to do. But if he had to go, they better leave before his mind gets dirty. Or. . . .

"How about that bath first?" Dean suggested. "We don't need to hurry. It's not like those people will leave anytime soon."

"They may." Only after saying that sentence Renee realized that was actually Dean's strategy. "No." Although she initially wanted to accept Dean's idea, now that she knew Dean's reasons, she changed her mind. "How about this? I take a bath, you go downstairs enjoy your party, and then I'll join you in ten minutes to one hour." An unhappy look on Dean's face appeared, which Renee had to take full responsibility for. Nevertheless, she wouldn't back down. "Go," she was encouraging him, "have fun, get drunk, I don't care." She was pushing him out the room.

After some persuasion, Dean finally yielded to her insistence. "But you'll come in fifteen minutes max," he claimed his requirements. "And I reserve the right to open any present I find without the consent of the owner."

Renee laughed at how formal he made himself sound. "Fine."

Dean, happy with what he achieved, turned to her with one last enquiry. "What does it look like?"

"I'm not obliged to tell you that. Besides, we both know you'll end up opening all the presents. And making a mess around."

Dean sighed and opened the door. With puppy eyes he looked at her, attempting for the last time to get the details.

She couldn't resist. "It's a small box with blue ribbon."

Now he could leave in peace, happy as one could be. Renee accepted the price she had to pay for getting those few minutes alone, which she would use for repackaging herself with a new outfit. What she didn't realize was that the real reason why Dean insisted on knowing which gift was from her was so that he knew which he shouldn't open. Of course she would want to be there when he opens it, to see his expression. That he knew and respected.

Dean descended to the ground floor. Somewhat made him believe that he would find less than half of people there. He wasn't lucky. They were almost all there, partying, even without him. But soon after appearing there, he attracted attention.

"Dean, Dean," somebody was already shouting at him.

"Yep?" he replied, lacking the previous enthusiasm. He appeared a bit depressed. Just a bit.

"Feeling old yet?' Cesaro interrupted overly-excited Jimmy.

He answered with confused look and, "I'm five years younger than you."

Cesaro, drunk as he was, took it offensively and replied, "Yeah? Well, we'll see about that."

"Have you seen –" Dean had a question on his mind but didn't ask. "Never mind," he just said, when he noticed the medium-size pile of birthday presents, ready on the table for him to see what bullshit he got this year. This distraction made him forget about his original interest and elevated his mood. With eyes set on the target, he walked straight toward the middle of the room. Blue ribbon of one gift caught his attention in an instant. That was the one he should avoid, no matter how curious he was. He would have to wait for his girlfriend to open the . . . _wait_ . . . there was another box with blue ribbon over it. Or was it turquoise? Damn it! How was he supposed to know what she meant by _blue_? Did she even say blue? Or was it green? Or red? That quite notably decreased the number of presents he could open without breaking the rules he created. Ok. He was sure she said _small_ box. That was a good start. His mission could still be successful. But that didn't suffice. He had to know which present she bought . . . or made. Whatever. Which one was it?

"Hey, John!"

Cena raised his head to see who was calling him. Then he came over to Dean. "What's up, man?"

"I need your help."

That sentence resulted in laughter on John's part. "I knew it would come to this," he joked.

Ignoring the comment, Dean went straight to the point. Well, first he tried his luck. "Do you know by any chance whose present is this?" He pointed at the one with the blue ribbon on it. "Or this," he added, now holding the other, though very similar one.

"No." Clearly believing he was offering a sufficiently substitute answer, he added, "but I know this bottle of champagne is from me." He handed Dean the box and a bag, which Dean immediately looked into. There was a T-shirt inside.

"Never give up?"

"Yeah, spread the word."

"I guess I know what I'm giving you for your birthday."

"I don't mind _Unstable_ shirt," John replied.

"Oh, no, not my merchandise. _Yours_. In fact, why don't you take it right now?"

John did not get the chance to refuse; the T-shirt was forced into his hands. Dean kept the champagne.

"But back to the point. I need you to tell me –"

The "champ" interrupted him. "Seriously, keep it. Give it to somebody. _Charity_, man."

Frustrated Dean found another victim to his crime. "Which one of these is blue?" he asked Adam.

"Neither."

That was of much help.

"This one," John said, and pointed at the one in Dean's right hand.

"Cool. So would you describe this as a small box with blue ribbon?"

John hesitated. He thought about it, then let Dean know the conclusion. "I'd say that description would better fit the other gift."

"Why?"

"Well, it's smaller. And bluer."

"You just said _this one_ was blue!" Dean was losing patience.

"I don't know," cried John. "They both are."

Dean tried to calm down. In the worst case scenario, he could just abort the mission. But as long as there was hope. . . .

"Open it," Dean gave the order.

"What?"

"Look inside. Don't tell me what's there, just decide whether it's something a girl would give you."

Though hardly persuaded about moral rightness of what he was asked to do, John decided to assist. He carefully opened one present – not really tearing the paper – it sufficed to see what was inside. "Can I check the other one?" he asked.

"Sure. Go ahead."

Dean was impatient. He didn't feel very good about doing this, but he had to do it. Moreover, if it really was that wrong, if somebody or something didn't want him to do it, Renee would already appear and prevent him from opening her present.

"So?" Dean asked when John opened it. This time he had to really open the box to see what's inside.

As a result, John swallowed with a lot of effort, taken back by the contents. Quickly he closed the box again and with scared eyes he looked at Dean.

"Who's the present supposed to be from?" John wanted to know to fill the missing information.

"Renee."

John bit on his lower lip, stepping nervously, before finally handing the box over to Dean. "Yeah, I think it's this one."

The reaction he witnessed on John made Dean reconsider whether he wanted to know what Renee was giving him for his birthday. Actually, it became pretty clear. No. But he had to wonder. What was inside?

As Dean kept staring at the little box, appearing focused as though he had X-ray eyes, John decided to say another thing. "Actually, you know what? Let me take that reaction back. We're all grown-ups here. Congrats, man." And Cena went on to give Dean a handshake.

Now that was strange, Dean thought. Seriously, what was the present?

She appeared out of nowhere, wearing short white dress, but much more decent. There was still that sexy appearance about her. Less naughty, though. This creature stopped him from worrying and ended the moral dilemma whether to look or not.

She walked right up to him. Soon she realized what was happening, how Dean was doing exactly what he said he would do. Open her present.

At last he looked inside. Now it didn't matter anyway for she was close enough to see his reaction.

First, he was shocked. Similarly to Cena. Yet it wasn't fear that related to his emotions the most. He saw a pregnancy test. Positive. Still, this did not become one of those run-for-your-life moments.

His face was turning more and more unreadable. Until he smiled.

"So, what do you say?" Renee asked.

Dean kept staring into her eyes. And the smile grew wider. Then he started laughing.

"Is it funny?" she wanted to know; the tone implying she didn't think so.

"No. It's. . . ."

"Yes?"

Until now it was his face what she was focusing on. But a little glance at the object in his hand turned into longer, more conscious look. Observation. "That's not my present." The shaking of her head strengthened the credibility of the statement.

"Yeah, I realized." There was a card inside. Dean took it out, and after placing the box on the table behind him, he read it to himself. Then he gave it to her so that she, too, could read it.

"I wish I were there to see that reaction. Seriously now, just wanted to remind you that your age is not just a number." Renee did not understand at all. "What?" she addressed a simple question to Dean.

"He's testing me," Dean explained. "Testing my _maturity_." Dean appeared genuinely amused.

"Who is it from?" Renee asked, turning the card around, hopelessly looking for a name.

"Roman." Then Dean proceeded to give Renee the thoughtful present from his friend.

When she saw the content, terrified expression arrived. She had to look at Dean. He was smiling. How could he be smiling?

"Seriously, seeing this makes me freak out and you're . . . you're _smiling_?"

"Would you prefer if I freaked out?" he asked. Then he added, "Don't worry, darling, I'm saving that for later."

She chose not to react to that comment. She just wondered, "How could he even know our boxes would be so similar? And that you wouldn't open it in front of everyone? And –"

"Let me stop you right there. He didn't. He's just lucky. As always. Except that he miscalculated. I'm not freaking out. I've matured," Dean said, and went on to celebrate that accomplishment with a little dance. Now he even felt like drinking and partying. "I win," he said. Then he shouted it. "I win!" And added, "Twenty-nine and no accidents."

Renee decided to interrupt his little celebration. "Now tell me, was the real reason you didn't freak out your maturity, as you say it, or was it because you knew from the beginning it was not real?"

That was an interesting question. And it made her believe that she got him. Initially it appeared so. But what she did not realized was that her opponent was tough. He was not a quitter willing to surrender without fight. Therefore, he came with a way to counter her question. He came with a question of his own. "What do you think?"

Anyone who saw her would say that Dean caught her off guard.

"What do you think that I would do in a situation like that, but a real one?

"Dean, I don't even know what I would do," she started. That was far from pleasing for him to hear. But then she continued, "But I'm sure you wouldn't run away and leave me to face with that situation on my own."

Dean, looking much more serious than before, nodded.

"I know that I can trust you. I know that you wouldn't let me down. You'd be there to support me. I _know_ I can count on you."

"I'd be the best damn boyfriend you can imagine."

That made her smile "We both know you're saying that just so that I say that you already are." She paused, but in the end she said it. "You already are."

Whether she one hundred percent meant it or not, it was nice to hear it. Having closed that topic, he focused on the box on the top of the pile beside him. The real gift from her.

He asked for a permission. "Can I open it now?"

"Go ahead."

The box was really light. Then again, so was the previous one. Yet the chances of getting the same thing were low. This wasn't the time he wished to win the lottery.

He opened the box. He took his time so that everything would stay undamaged. And he successfully ended his fight with the wrapping paper and looked inside to know what the surprise was. He found female lingerie.

"Is it yours?" he asked.

"It would be funny if it wasn't."

"Then those would be some crappy that I've got this year."

"It's mine," she admitted, and let him soak that information in.

The evaluation came in no more than five seconds. "You're not wearing a bra." That made him wonder what else she was not wearing. He checked out her dress again. More patiently this time. Short albeit not short enough to reveal the answer. Where sight failed, other senses took charge. He'd have to figure out manually.

He wasn't even really paying attention to all those people around them. He just walked straight to her, with a sort of wicked smile, and engaged in a kiss. That was to distract her as his hand was searching for an evidence.

"There goes the maturity," Renee proclaimed.

"You're the one to talk. You're walking around here in a tiny little dress and you're completely naked underneath. Look around. See those people? Do you see the danger?"

"Oh, I see the danger." It was standing in front of her and she was looking at it fearlessly. "Danger in delay."

"What do you mean?"

He lost the track. But she remembered. "You said twenty-three minutes."

Now he realized and started laughing. "But you wanted me to be here, with my _guests_."

"What difference does it make when you're talking to me and ignoring them anyway?"

"So I understand it we're done pretending _this_ is the birthday party?" He was right. The _real_ party would come after this one. And only VIP guests were allowed to attend.

The answer was a kiss on the cheek. If she aimed for the lips, the results could be disastrous. They had wait. So what that Dean said twenty-three minutes were all he could promise. If he could wait until now, he can a little longer.

"Let's get out of here," he suggested. To make everything perfect, he took that bottle of champagne he got from Cena and, seeing the cake sliced on plates and not wanting to miss the opportunity to taste it, he went to take two plates. Now he was ready to leave.

He returned to his girlfriend and smiled at her. "Thank you for an amazing party," he said. He liked it; so what that he spent so little time there?

Before leaving, he shouted at the drunkards all around him, "Thank you all for coming." He wished he didn't add the next thing that popped in his head but he head to. "If anyone looks for me, I'll be upstairs with my birthday present." Yes, he meant Renee and yes, he made it quite clear when he pointed at her with index fingers on both hands. Yet, and he was well aware of his words, he said more. "Unpacking it."

They wished people weren't listening to him.

"Are you drunk?" She was the one to answer her own question. "No. Just crazy."

"I'm not crazy when I know I'm crazy."

"If you say so." She laughed. "I just know that every half-self-aware person in this room knows what we're going to do."

That did not bother him. He didn't think his proclamation had much to do with it anyway. "It's my birthday. You're my girlfriend. Don't you think they already figured it out?"

The truth was, their co-workers did not care at all. Their relationship was no longer a secret and the public display of affection caught people's attention only rarely. And of course they knew that there were things that were happening out of their sight.

"Why are we even arguing over this?" at last Renee asked.

Dean had the answer, the explanation indeed, ready. "It turns you on." She blushed because she knew it was true.

"It doesn't. . . ." She unsuccessfully protested.

"Don't you think I know by now?"

To show that it was not a reason for her to be ashamed, rather proud that he has learned so much about her – as she did about him – he took her hand into his. A look full of affection for the person standing in front of him accompanied this loving gesture.

That was when she remembered. She grabbed the box containing her missing underwear and from the bottom picked up an envelope.

Before learning what was inside, he joked, "I'm too old and too rich to be getting money." He accepted the envelope when she handed it to him and opened it without waiting.

"I know you said there's no point in going to New York over Christmas –"

"Renee," Dean interrupted, anticipating the re-opening of what he thought to be a resolved discussion.

However, she stopped him immediately. "I understand. Although I'm not too happy about us spending the holidays separately, I admit you have a point. But since we won't be together on Christmas Day, I want us to really enjoy New Year's."

Dean smiled at her. He wasn't happy either that he wouldn't be with her when she gets to open the Christmas presents from him, but that's the way it is. They would enjoy each other's presence the last day of this year and the first day of the following one twice as much.

Now he was reading a list of things Renee has planned for them to do over those days off. Attached were tickets to some badass party in New York.

Dean again focused on the list. They wouldn't do half the things. There were two reasons. First, they would be so glad to be finally together that they'd just want to be alone, not giving a damn about some planned activities. Second, Dean would ruin Renee's well-thought plan with his own, based on spontaneous ideas. That was the kind of holiday he liked. Without any detailed planning.

She knew that. She wasn't even sure why she made the list. She had to get lost in the moment because now it made no sense. So what she did was taking it off Dean's hand and tearing it into two halves. "No plans."

"How about going to that party and then we simply see what happens?"

"Sounds good to me. We'll see what New Year brings."

Great things, Dean was sure. He took her hand. "But now let's focus on more immediate future."


	2. Chapter 2

The colorful Christmassy commercial did not interest him. They were all the same. Ugh, how they disgusted him. Yet he kept staring at the screen. Sight focused on the TV while hearing was paying attention to whole another conversation.

"No. Not yet." "Of course not!"

Seth could use some of Dean's good mood.

"Nothing really." The sigh followed the sentence. "I wish."

Seth grabbed the remote control and changed the channel. There was an action movie playing but he already lost the beginning. Another commercial. Commercial. Football. He did not want to see any of that. And now he was watching some documentary about nature. Somehow he found a lion humping a lioness more interesting than the rest. He increased the volume.

Interrupted in the conversion he was having, Dean looked at him. Not angrily, just realizing he should probably go somewhere where his talking wouldn't be annoying. He covered the mic of his phone and told Seth, "I'm sorry." Dean stood up and wanted to leave the room so that Seth could fully enjoy his program, but Seth made him sit down.

He turned the TV off. "It's fine. I'll . . ." Not even he knew how to finish the sentence, what he would do. But it was clear to him that he did not want to be sitting on the couch, listening to Dean's call.

The lack of enthusiasm alarmed Dean enough to decide to end the call. "I'll call you in the morning." "Yes." And, "I will. Bye."

Now Dean put his phone down on the coffee table in front of him, took a deep breath, and finally looked at Seth with a very worried look. He said nothing. He just kept watching his friend, whose eyes were set on the floor. There was no sign of smile on his face or that happy sparkle in his eyes.

"Renee asked whether we have opened the presents yet," Dean tried and failed to start a conversation. He attempted to ease the atmosphere. "As if we were that impatient. She wouldn't believe me if I said that they're still in the plastic bag in the hallway where I left them." Dean gave Seth chance to say something but he was not interested. His interest in this conversation equaled his interest in the presents per se.

"Are you sure you didn't want to be with your family instead?" Dean asked him.

This time Seth answered the question. "No."

Dean wasn't the biggest fan of Christmas – honestly he didn't give much damn about this, or any other, holiday – and he went through some pretty awful Christmases before, but this one he'd nominate for the worst one. Seeing Seth, he thought, wow, this would be some depressive Christmas.

Actually, there wasn't much suggesting it was even Christmas time. No decorations, no festive songs playing on the radio, and – and this was the reason why the presents were comfortably resting next to the shoes – no Christmas tree.

"This . . ." Dean spoke, "sucks."

Seth was observing the whisky glass. He was polishing the water stain on the outside. Then he proceeded to drink the contents. No, that was not water.

"I seriously consider playing Last Christmas or any other annoying Christmas song."

This prompted Seth to stand up and turn up the music. He decided for metal. Then he turned to Dean sitting on the coach and asked him, "Should I order pizza?"

The question caught Dean off-guard. Anyhow, Seth did not wait for his answer. He was already thinking about the topping while waiting for somebody to answer so that he could place an order.

When he was finished, Dean said to him, "I'm not saying I want to see you in a reindeer sweater but damn it, Seth, this feels like a funeral."

"I'm sorry. I don't feel like celebrating this year."

"That's fine. Just don't take it to extremes. What is it with you anyway? You were doing fine until now."

Seth angrily uttered, "I'm great." His focus on the wall in front of him, suggesting that he wished to punch it as hard as he could, made it hard to believe him. No, he was not doing very well. Christmas had a lot to do with it. "In fact, you know what would make this holiday even better? If Roman could be here."

"Yeah, well, he can't," Dean replied.

"Yeah. . . ." Seth sighed. He had already chosen the perfect spot where his fist should hit the wall. Not that he would actually get to doing it. "Screw him and his perfect life," Seth said quietly, however the bitterness of his voice would not hide. His fist was itching; it demanded action. Unfortunately, it wouldn't get any. Seth massaged it, then turned back to Dean.

It was evident that Dean was worried. He knew what was up. And he knew that Christmas did not help Seth's recovery process. Stupid holiday that makes you face the reality. "Let's boycott Christmas," Dean suggested. "We'll watch some thriller, but we're gonna laugh, okay? I've already sacrificed Christmas with Renee, I'm not spending holidays surrounded by depression." He already regretted his honesty. Yeah, letting Seth know how little separated this Christmas from misery was surely gonna help him.

Seth didn't seem to care. For one thing, it was true. This was not the perfect holiday. Actually, the only thing missing was a hanged Santa. Then again, he didn't imagine it could get any better. He already made peace with his situation and learned to not expect much from the rest of the year.

There was a long line of DVDs and Blurays that Dean was searching through right now. What was the best anti-Christmas movie, he wondered. Seth was helping too. He turned on the TV and checked Netflix. They were looking for good ten or fifteen minutes until it occurred to them. The answer has been there all along. Simple and clear. "Die Hard!" they shouted almost simultaneously. It brought a much-welcomed excitement; no matter how long, or short, it would last.

"Now that's what I call Christmas," Dean said sitting down.

And the bell rang just in time. Their pizza arrived.

They set everything. They put all the food and drinks on the table in front of them. They got the alcohol. Seth never used to get drunk on Christmas but this first time had to come eventually. And today seemed to be just the right day for it.

Dean hit play. However, he played little attention to the beginning of the movie. He saw that his friend appeared cheered up. He knew it was a lie; and Seth himself would soon realize it. And as he had said, he wasn't a big fan of Christmas in general, but Seth always liked this holiday. Seeing him smile was nice but it would be a better gift to see him truly happy. That was something one movie would not and could not achieve. Dean had to come with something more permanent, more worthy of giving away a traditional Christmas.

Meanwhile Seth watched the movie, filling his glass with brandy. He raised it but wasn't allowed to finish it.

"Don't drink it!" Dean stopped him, and took the glass away from him.

"Why?" Seth asked. Now a bit worried. Did somebody put something in it? That question seemed important enough to be said out loud. "Did you put something in it?"

Dean replied with sarcasm. "Yeah, I attempted to poison you." With a lot of care he poured the alcohol back in the bottle. When he put the lid back on it, he saw Seth still watching him, horrified, waiting for the answer. _Real_ answer. "No. But you can't get drunk."

Why, Seth was thinking. "I've been drunk before. _You_'ve been around me when I was drunk before. What's the problem now?"

"Christmas," Dean replied, not giving any detail at first.

"And?" Seth again reached for the bottle, and again he's been denied it. "What's the matter with you? I want to get drunk."

"You _can't_ get drunk." He put all the alcohol from the table on the floor next to him. The access was not only restricted but absolutely impossible. All the alcohol was out of his reach. And Dean was watching the clock on the wall. It was not late, really. "If we are not going to celebrate Christmas, there's a better way to use that time of year."

Seth was not listening. He was trying to get hold of a bottle. Any of them, although he was reaching for Jack Daniel's. "Gimme, gimme, gimme," he was saying quietly to encourage his arm to greater performance.

"My plan and your being drunk don't go together," Dean explained to him.

Maybe Dean hoped that this would prompt Seth to ask him about the plan. Like Seth cared that much. He was already standing up, heading to the cabinet where he'd find what the _guest_ so arrogantly took away from him. However, before Seth could cause any damage to his body, Dean stood behind him, stopping him, in a friendly manner. He didn't mean to make his friend hate him. Especially not for no reason. But he had a reason. And he started the explanation by saying, "Where's your Santa costume?" Now he caught Seth's attention. Although only a small amount of it but it sufficed. "We're going to make some kids' Christmas merrier."

That was when Seth turned to him. It sounded to him as a rather radical shift from boycotting Christmas. "Charity?" Seth asked.

Dean did not fully agree. "Work. Volunteering. We're taking Santa Claus's job tonight." And he added, "We'll see if that's something we'd like to do, you know, in case our wrestling career fails."

"I don't know if you can provide for your family with one-day job."

"What family?" countered Dean.

Seth sighed. "Good point."

"Just imagine it. Working for one day a year. The rest of the year you can do whatever you want."

"Wrestling," Seth said in a dreamy voice. In the end, it wouldn't be much different.

"We can decide tomorrow," Dean ended. Now he'd like to know where that costume was hiding. He kept opening all the wardrobes, closets, and cabinets.

"I never told you I had one," Seth told him, knowing both of them knew what he was referring to.

"You do. Where is it?"

That led to Seth's confession. "Which one?" Okay, he could have given Dean the one that he wanted. Something, though, made him open the topic of the _other _costume.

"You have two?"

"Yep. But we certainly can't use both."

Dean had an image in his head that he thought corresponded to the _other_ Santa Claus costume that Seth had brought up. It looked _very_ naughty. "Do you judge who's been naughty and nice and depending on that decide which costume to wear?"

Seth smiled but didn't say anything. Dean wasn't absolutely correct; still, he was pretty close with his assumption. Nevertheless, that was of no importance right now.

Dean's mind was set on a certain target and Seth knew it. Generally speaking, he had no objections to the little that he'd been told. Okay, sure, he could do a good deed this year. Dean was right when he said that it'd be better than wasting their time, which they were about to do. Now he just needed to find the costume, and that shouldn't take too long since Seth knew where to look for it, even though he hadn't used it in a while. It's been a couple of years, actually. While trying to figure out when was the last time, and what was the occasion, of the last use of the Santa Claus costume that he owned, he left the room and returned three minutes later with a ladder. He placed it next to the tall closet to be able to access the top shelf. It was there, clean, nicely folded. Next to it he found a hat with a beard. Still standing on the ladder, he looked down at Dean, reading a magazine that he found laying on the shelf in front of him. It was a WWE magazine, and Dean just reached the poster section. Okay, it was not the newest issue because the poster featured the guys still as a group. "May I?" Dean asked, preparing to tear it off and keep it.

"No," Seth sharply ruined whatever plans Dean had with it.

He would have to wait until his ex-partner puts the magazine away, looks at him, and notices that somebody wants to give him what he'd been asked for. Maybe it would be easier if Seth descended the ladder, but he was in no time pressure so he waited.

Finally Dean took it. But having reconsidered the idea, he placed it over Seth's hands again. "You're wearing it; not me," he explained.

Dean waited for Seth's reaction. His face was unreadable at first, but then he smiled and Dean knew Seth would be his Santa tonight.

"And you?"

"I was thinking Rudolph," Dean lied because it just popped in his head. "I'll put on a red nose and I'm good to go."

"That makes you a clown rather than Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer," Seth spoke while getting off the leader and putting it away. Meanwhile Dean stood there, not appearing willing to give Seth a hand. Then again, Seth didn't seem to need it.

"Fine, I'll just go as myself then. I'm popular enough."

"What's Christmassy about _that_?" Looking for some kind of a compromise, Seth returned to the ladder and set it up one more time. There should be something up there that Dean could use. Even if it were only a Christmas hat.

Seth's face suddenly lit up. He got so excited he jumped off the ladder as though there was a ring next to it. Without explaining anything he ran off to another room. Dean was slow in reaction. He stayed in the living room, waiting, hoping that he'd return. In the meantime, he took out the magazine again and opened the page where he'd find the three men in black. Luckily for Seth, he returned sooner than Dean could cause some damage to his property. However, Seth came empty-handed. Surprisingly.

"I'm sure you have forgotten something," Dean said.

"Come with me," Seth asked him.

They entered Seth's room. Seth headed for the open closet. Deep inside, underneath a lot of garbage, Seth dug something out. Dean noticed a box, a green/red one with a ribbon over it. No bow. Seth took the box out and gave it to his friend.

"I got this last year from Ro."

"What is it?" Dean asked, slightly fearing to open it and see by himself.

"Your costume for tonight."

"Snow white?"

Seth laughed. "Elf."

Again, Seth disappeared without giving Dean a chance to realize what was happening. At least he looked happy. The time that Dean got waiting for Seth to come back he used to take a good look at that green elf costume. Why did he turn down the opportunity to be Santa Claus again? Did Seth maybe had a devil costume somewhere? "Oh, God," Dean exclaimed when he realized Seth actually could have had that one as well. But once again, it probably wasn't one that was suited for public display.

And there was Seth. With that sparkle in his eye he returned. He came to Dean smiling. To appear even more suspicious, he kept his hands behind his back. Dean's bewilderment found a good use when Seth put a red nose over Dean's face without being noticed too soon. Then Dean just took it in his fingers and pulled the string to see it better. He wasn't half as excited as Seth. Initially. Then, as soon as an idea arose, a smile settled on his face. "What if I wore this, elf's pants and shoes, Santa's coat and beard, and . . . do you by any chance have devil's tail and horns?"

"You're not going as a mutant, Dean." Even after being stopped in his plans, he kept smiling. So what that he couldn't wear those things now? Maybe . . . "How about those horns and the tail? Do you have them?" That could come in handy later. Not _tonight_ later, New Year's later.

"What for?"

Dean did not hurry with the answer. His eyes felt more comfortable looking at the ground than at Seth.

That was enough of a hint. "Don't tell me."

"So. . . .?" Dean still waited for the response.

On the other hand, Seth didn't feel very comfortable talking about this topic either. "I might have something. . . ."

That topic needed to be closed, that was the feeling shared by both sides. Seth left the room. That should suffice. Except that he had to return. "Uhm, put it on," he told Dean, and then he was gone. In the living room there was awaiting him his costume. To be honest, just the idea of doing this good deed increased Seth's mood significantly. Now he wasn't thinking about the way they would do it, where exactly they'd go and what they'd do there, but that was something they would deal with later.

Seth picked up the Santa Claus costume and after staring at it for a considerable amount of time he put it on. He finished it off with a beard. He was already too hot.

"I feel stupid." Seth heard a voice behind him. He turned around to see tortured Dean. All green, without that enthusiasm that should accompany Santa's helper.

Without saying anything, Seth chuckled and turned back to face the mirror that was in front of him. It wasn't that terrible. He looked good, that was understood, but it surprised him that he didn't feel awkward. The reason might have been being at home but he felt confident that it wouldn't change when he walks out the door.

"We'll need to get some presents," Seth uttered.

"We can stop by at a toyshop. But before we go, would you mind if I called Renee?"

Seth sighed. "You've already talked to her."

Dean did not seem to get his point. "So?"

All that Seth was left with was shaking his head, not understanding that zeal for the relationship, especially when it came to a guy like Dean. However, Seth simply thought, _Good for him_, and let it be. There was nothing in Seth's power anyway.

"I'll be quick," Dean promised, with a smile on his face that appeared around the time the idea of talking to his girlfriend arose.

"I'll be in the car," Seth announced to him, and immediately followed accomplishment of that statement. So much he wished for a short conversation between Dean and Renee but in the end Seth'd be satisfied with ten minutes. How surprised he was when Dean appeared leaving the door three minutes later.

"Have you told her what we're going to do?" Seth wanted to know.

"No. I'm not doing it for bragging about it later."

"Why do want to do it anyway?"

"It seemed like a good idea. It hurts nobody and benefits everybody. Look, it cheered you up."

As if Dean hit the jackpot guessing the right secret spell, Seth's mood started declining again. Seth himself noticed. "I'm fine."

Silence followed. The engine wasn't running yet so it felt strange and awkward sitting there like that. Dean was looking outside, but then his sight slipped to the rearview mirror. He had to smile when he saw his hat and the whole appearance. He would never wear green again. Ever. At least he was doing this for a good cause. And for Seth's smile.

"Santa ought to smile more," Dean uttered.

"First of all, Santa needs to get some presents." With that, he started the engine and drove, knowing the toyshop was to be their first destination.

Surprisingly, they quickly got used to their abnormal clothes, although they probably weren't that strange on this day. Still, waiting at the intersection, people looked at them. Stared would be a better word. Dean reacted with a smile. When it repeated several times, he raised his finger at them. But he kept smiling.

Christmas wasn't the time of year to buy logically. They were willing to buy a lot and spend a lot. Besides, they already saved a lot of money so they could afford to spend more now. Dean by not going to New York and Seth by not buying any presents this year. Moreover, kids deserved to get their toys. Another aspect to the decision making came to life when the guys entered the shop. Their eyes started shining and suddenly they wanted to fulfil their childhood dreams. They wished what they'd buy would stay with them forever. They wanted to play with those trains, race with the cars, and fight with the toy swords. There also were real swords hanging on the wall. The shared look meant the shared desire. Unhappy, but they had to get what they came there for because the shop would be closing soon. Impulse was what guided them when picking out the toys. The action figures, all the superheroes. Then they remembered they should choose something for girls as well. The Barbie doll would do, they thought. And the teddy bears.

"I'll get one. . . ." Dean got lost in his thought. There were so many possibilities. Not just bears. Cats, dogs, snakes, even kangaroos. That would be special, wouldn't it? "Would you like a teddy?" Dean asked him, offering to give it to him as a Christmas present. But the one he originally wanted to buy, that he'd surely buy, was for his girlfriend.

Seth, though, had no interest in a toy. "I'd prefer that sword." He pointed at the one hanging on the wall.

"That's the last thing I need. You getting hurt."

Seth's eyes revealed that he'd buy it regardless of Dean. He commented, "Last year you'd buy one too."

"One of us has to be brave."

"Come on, you know you want it," Seth tried to persuade him. "I'll buy it for you."

"Seth, we came here for a reason."

"To buy swords," Seth said in an innocent voice.

"No." Saying those things Dean sounded mature. He was pretending, that was for sure. Deep inside he wanted to take that sword and start a sword fight. On the other hand, he was well aware of the reason why they entered the shop in the first place.

The sad look on Seth's face was a reflection of the dad attitude of Dean. The inner child awaken in him and now he felt offended for having been given orders. Well, maybe not orders, but he perceived Dean's attitude toward him the same way.

The funny thing was the costume. Actually both of them. Santa Claus being mad at his employee. You don't see that every day.

"Guys, do you need help?" a shop assistant asked them. He himself looked festive, but with his Christmas hat he couldn't triumphed them.

Seth was the first one to speak. "Yes. Could you get me that sword on the wall?"

Dean sighed.

"Actually, I have more in the back. Are you a collector?" the employee asked.

"Sure," Seth answered the question.

"No, he's not," Dean said, and ruined Seth's deal. "We need to –"

Seth wouldn't give up that easily. "I'm interested in buying a sword," he kept saying.

"Just because you wear Santa Claus costume it doesn't mean that people won't start running away when they see you holding a weapon."

"Sir, do you mean to use it as a weapon?"

Now Dean furthered Seth from reality of getting the sword that he longed for. He raised suspicion and that would make it difficult for Seth to get the kind of present he wanted.

"No. I am a collector," Seth insisted.

"Tomorrow, Seth." Dean turned to the assistant. "We need to get some presents."

"Do you have something specific in mind?"

"Uhm." Dean thought. They had something in the cart but they wanted more. Much more. "Something that kids would like."

The guy laughed. "I believe any kid would appreciate anything from this shop under the Christmas tree."

While Dean was checking out the bottom shelf with collector cars, Seth again was looking at his beloved sword. He walked closer to it, noticing there were very cute knives near it. He knew he couldn't get them. Not now. Standing underneath the weaponry, he looked at some more suitable toys for small children. Then he noticed board games and puzzles. Classics like monopoly. How he hated to lose at those games. How angry he would get if they caught him cheating. How terrible it was when others ganged up on him because of his strategy. Yeah, that seemed like a nice present. It would teach children how cruel life was. Thinking about this, Seth's face saddened. Those children already knew the pain of living, the imperfections that life brought with itself. Finally Seth chose some puzzles. He liked the motives of world capitals, monuments, and nature that will show these kids the nice side of life too. And just to make sure he added some more fluffy animals.

He met Dean halfway, as he was putting sport stuff into the cart. Toy armors and weapons. Something those kids can fight with.

"Hey, I can buy this sword for you if you like."

Seth gave him an are-you-kidding-me look and Dean laughed. A little provocation never hurt anyone.

"We should go," Seth uttered on the way to the register. Again, he appeared troubled. He had no reason for the change of mood, it just happened. What would help was the presence of all those excited children. In fact, from the time he took the credit card out of the wallet to the time he put down on the floor the large bag full of presents that he held until then over his shoulder he noticed little. His mind had been too flawed at that time to capture all the details in between. Those screams full of joy entered his head like a bullet and didn't leave him alone. It was too hard to resist smiling. He was Santa after all, he couldn't look grumpy. Dean's enthusiasm helped too. It seemed to have come out of nowhere, Dean's good mood and ideas concerning charitable behavior and actions for someone else's happiness. Maybe Christmas was behind this. Or Seth's melancholy. Or it was all because he couldn't spend the holidays with his girlfriend. The reason notwithstanding, he was happy to be there cheering up both the kids and his friend Santa Claus. Thanks to him Seth shouted "Ho, ho, ho" as he dropped the bag on the floor and sat down in a chair they brought for him.

While Seth was digging through the presents he had in the bag Dean was walking around the room, checking out the food they brought with them and somebody had already placed on the tables, and occasionally picking some. He wasn't hungry, he just wanted to know what it tasted like. The good thing was that as he was among the children he joked with them, teased them about the presents or led a simple conversation with them. The atmosphere that came with the Christmas songs got inside his head and made him extremely cheerful, inclined to dance or even jump around. The topics of some conversations were what helped him keep his cool. "Do you work for Santa all year round?" one kid asked. "No," Dean, or the elf, replied. "We're not Santa's slaves, don't believe that. It's a seasonal job," he continued as a background to his lie was coming to him. "For eleven months we have our own life with partying, hanging out with friends –"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" a little girl interrupted.

"We can have girlfriends," Dean generalized. "Or boyfriends. We live with our own families, you know. Some are married, have kids like you . . . some are single."

"Are you single?" another question came from the other side of the table.

Dean smiled. What would be the problem with telling the truth? "No. I have a girlfriend," he admitted. And he continued, returning to the original topic, "Then, around the beginning of December we leave everything behind and go to Santa's mansion where we work to make sure everything's ready for Christmas."

"Isn't it too late to start in December?" a smart boy asked.

Dean thought before giving a witty answer. "When do you start to study for a test in school?"

"I don't go to school yet."

"That doesn't matter. You'll see how it is. Some of you know it, I'm sure. You prepare the night before. At best. But in the end you know what you need to know. At least it's good enough. We, the elves, are the same. Besides, we work best under pressure. And who wants to spend so much time away from their family? Would you?" he asked the kids listening to him.

"Jodie," Seth shouted in the meantime a name of a kid that was supposed to come to him to get her present.

Dean paid little attention to Santa Claus and the gift-giving session. He focused on his little group. "I'm not saying it's bad to live with Santa Claus and his wife for a few weeks. They both take a good care of us."

"Are there enough beds for everybody?"

Dean had to think how he should answer that question. In the end, he decided to go with, "No, but we can manage it. We work shifts. Some work at night while others sleep. Then we change."

"Who tells you what to do?"

"Santa Claus, of course," a boy shouted.

Dean laughed. "Well, no, not really. There are those who give orders. Actually, being an elf gives you good career prospects. You start collecting trash but you can become the one who comfortably sits in his office and divides the work."

"Does he have a secretary?"

"Yep."

"Is she pretty?" a six or seven year old boy wanted to know.

"It's he actually. And no, he's not pretty. The elf is there to do the job, not to look at pretty girls."

"They have a family at home," a girl reminded everyone.

"Exactly." Dean laughed. "What's your name?" he asked the girl.

"Cathy."

"Listen to Cathy, she gets it."

"What's your family like?" asked a boy who only recently returned to his seat after being given a present, a race car.

That was a topic Dean didn't really want to open. That was a topic that lowered the level of his cheerfulness. Then he realized those kids around him had it worse. They had parents who didn't want them or they had no parents at all. At last he decided to speak again. "My family are those people I spend most of my time with. My friends that I love. My girlfriend." He looked at the side of the room where Seth was sitting, giving out Christmas presents. "My boss, Santa Claus."

"That's nice," someone noted.

"It's pretty good," agreed Dean.

For the rest of the evening he moved to Santa and helped him, doing the things he was there for. They continued hearing Christmas songs mixed with children's laughter. They enjoyed the sight of joy on kids' faces. It was such a wonderful evening. Good enough substitute for traditional Christmas. Otherwise they'd spend the evening watching movies, eating pizza, getting drunk. At least this way they were helpful. Dean had a good idea to do the charity instead of boycotting Christmas. The interesting thing about it was that they weren't doing the charity as celebrities but regular people. Throughout the night nobody knew who they were. Possibly even if they took away the masks they wouldn't get recognized. Yet those little kids loved them. And not only because they represented their favorite Christmas figures. They brought Christmas to them, they brought joy, they brought love and laughter.

Only sitting back in the car they realized how the charitable activity exhausted them. Moreover, it was late. "It's too late to finish the movie, isn't it?" Seth asked. He felt bad, guilty even, for not watching Die Hard.

"Tomorrow. We don't have any plans for tomorrow anyway." Then he realized, "you can open the presents."

"I don't care about some presents."

Dean sensed Seth's resentment has returned. "So we're back at boycotting Christmas?"

"No," Seth replied hesitantly. "I don't know. It's different when it's just the two of us."

"Yeah. At some occasions Christmas is wonderful, at others it's just annoying."

"Exactly," Seth agreed.

"Die Hard it is. Some alcohol and . . ."

"The pizza's still on the table."

"Cool."

The drive home continued in silence. Well, not really since they had radio on. However, they didn't say anything. Seth focused on driving and Dean was tired, he even fell asleep on the window for a moment. Gone was the belief that he could keep Seth's mood elevated, that once you're up you don't go down. Now he simply did not care anymore.

The bed was too far away. His eyes kept closing. Dreams were entering his consciousness. Dreams of what this Christmas could have been like. People he could have been with. Image of Renee wearing the elf costume instead of him. He would wear Santa Claus costume. He would decide who's been good and who's been naughty.

"You're sleeping in the car or do you want to come in?" Seth asked when he stopped the car.

Dean opened his eyes and started to be aware of the surroundings again. "What?"

"We're home."

"No, you're home," Dean said while yawning. But he undid the safety belt and opened the door to get out. He still had the hat on; when he realized it he took it off and tried to put it in his pocket. Two minutes later he realized it didn't fit.

Seth had the coat off even before entering the house. He was just in the red pants and some plain white shirt. Oh, yeah, and the beard.

"You know what this scene needs?" Dean said, what made Seth stop before the door and turn around to look at him. "An angry wife asking where have you been."

Santa had a drunk appearance, but not even that made the joke funny.

"Come in," Seth told him as he opened the door.

"Where have all the cheer gone?"

They returned to the same old depressive place that hasn't even heard of Christmas.

"You want a beer?"

Dean shook his head. They were back at the beginning. "I'm going to bed." He had no energy to deal with Seth and his misery. Maybe there would be a chance in the morning. But that had a prerequisite: Dean fully recharged. "Goodnight."

Seth stayed up a little longer. In the end, he decided to open that bottle of whiskey. He didn't drink too much, though. Just two or three glasses. Then he started to watch the movie and grabbed a piece of cold pizza. The pizza has been declined by Seth's mouth and eyes refused to focus on the movie too. So he put the pizza down, turned the TV off, got up, and went to bed.

Dean was the first one to wake up. What he wanted to do next was calling his girlfriend, but that call did not reach the other end. Renee had to be still asleep. It would be funny if she was the one who got drunk last night. Anyhow, he would try later. In the meantime he took a shower and put on some clean clothes. He folded the elf costume that he left hanging over a chair last night. He meant to return it to Seth right away so that he wouldn't forget. When he left the room and walked toward the living room, he noticed that the door belonging to Seth's room was not closed. He lurked in. Seth was not inside.

"Seth?" Dean called and stepped in.

"Behind you," Seth replied quietly, and scared him. He was not fully dressed yet. But he had the hat on so he kept that drunk/hangover appearance. On the other hand, he looked happier than when Dean saw him last time, before going to bed.

"Presents time?" Dean suggested, trying his luck with Seth's newly found harmony.

"Nope. But we can have breakfast."

"It's something," admitted Dean.

Seth smiled. "You can get it ready while I go get the newspaper."

For some reason Dean did not mind Seth's telling him what to do. What he minded though was Seth's lack of proper clothing. "Like this?"

"Yeah, so?"

To show he really did not mean to put on more and go just in his underwear, he started walking toward the door. The thought that crossed Dean's mind was that he was glad he decided to spend those days with him so that he had some control of him. What a disaster it would be to leave Seth absolutely alone during Christmas.

"At least wear a coat." Since he was holding the one he had last night he handed it to him.

"No, thanks, I'm good."

"No, you're not. You'll be cold. You'll get sick."

That found Seth funny. "Since when you care? You're not my mom."

The conversation got no further because Dean's phone started ringing. That helped Seth to get away with going outside not dressed properly.

"Hold this," Dean hastily gave the costume to Seth before running off to the room that Seth had lent him during his stay.

Seth placed it in his armpit and continued his travel outside. Once he left the warmth of his house, he realized that Dean had a point. It was cold. Not that he couldn't withstand it. But he had the coat that Dean gave to him. It was convenient to wear it. Because, the truth was, he didn't mean to return inside immediately. The fresh cold air was pleasant to feel on his skin.

"Merry Christmas!" somebody called at him.

Seth awkwardly nodded and replied to his neighbor, "Merry Christmas to you, too."

Okay, so he should put something on. The pressure of the public opinion made him wear that coat. Then he started wondering whether it just didn't bring attention to his exposed legs. Well, so what. Like he gave a damn.

He returned with the newspaper in his right hand. The other was warm in the pocket. Seth closed the door and turned to see Dean. His frightened look. "What happened?" Seth got worried. Dean indeed looked as though something terrible had happened. He watched Seth, his every move. "Am I on fire?" Seth asked when he started sensing that he was the problem. At least he hoped it wasn't anything more serious.

"No," Dean replied, but did not laugh at the joke. He appeared tense and uncomfortable.

When Dean persisted in staring, Seth looked at himself, his naked legs. "I know you probably had a different idea when you said I should put something on . . . but –"

Dean interrupted, "It's nothing, really. Everything's fine. Just . . .," he said and stretched out his arm. Immediately he placed it back alongside his body. "Nothing."

"Are you okay?" Seth asked, worried, while placing the newspaper on the table in the middle of the room and taking the coat off.

Immediately after the coat touched the couch and Seth's hand stopped touching it, Dean reached for it. That caught Seth's attention. He got alarmed and abruptly reached for it as well. He was quicker. "It's the coat, isn't it?" he asked. "What's with it?"

"Nothing," Dean repeated. "Just . . . give it to me. . . . Please."

"What did you do it? Where did you tear it?"

"I didn't –" he started, but then cut it short when he started wondering if it wouldn't make it easier for him to go with it. It didn't matter; it was too late anyway.

Seth looked at it from afar. He held it in front of him and observed what was wrong with it. He couldn't tell. There was no huge hole or stain. Nothing that his eyes would catch. But there had to be something. Dean's guilty and terrified look was too suspicious to exist for no relevant reason.

Then it hit him. The pockets. "There's something in the pocket, isn't there?"

Dean remained quiet. It was too late to save himself. Yes, he left something in the pocket. Something Seth wasn't supposed to find.

"I'm sorry," Seth addressed the hypocritical words to Dean as he was reaching into the right pocket of the upper part of the elf costume. There he found a little black box that he took out. "This is not mine," he said. He opened it, and found a ring. An engagement ring.

Seth gasped in surprise. That was the only emotion he allowed his friend to see.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, but those words Seth's brain absorbed very absently. "I didn't want you to see it. I should have hidden it better."

Seth looked up from the ring to the face that belonged to its owner. "This is amazing," he said, and his face sparkled in reflection of his feelings. "Congratulations."

"Well, she hasn't said yes yet." He couldn't fully grasp the way Seth took it. "Are you alright?"

"I'm great."

"Are you sure?"

Seth understood why Dean had trouble accepting his reaction. "Yes. I'm happy for you two."

"Even though . . ." he said in an intonation of a question.

As a reply Seth nodded. "No matter what. Just because . . ." Seth breathed in heavily. He had to overcome the problems that he encountered talking about it. He started again but this time he continued, "Just because it didn't work out for me it doesn't it won't for you. I wish you the best, you know that."

After one more look at the box and its contents Seth closed it and handed it over to Dean. "You keep it with you at all times, don't you?"

Dean nodded. Just when he took the costume off he forgot it inside the pocket. That was his only mistake.

"Who knows about this?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Well, to be fair, Roman knows."

Seth laughed. Of course.

"I'd tell you but . . ." Dean tried to explain. The explaining wasn't really necessary, though.

"Doesn't matter. So when are you popping the question?" was the only thing that really mattered to Seth.

"I don't know. I don't have a set date."

"What are you waiting for?"

"A perfect moment," Dean honestly answered.

Seth chuckled. "Perfect moment? You wanna know a secret, Dean? That perfect moment's overrated. That perfect moment is not important." He again laughed. "That perfect moment does not exist."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. His opinion on this differed. And he knew that Roman would disagree with Seth too. Roman told him how everything about asking a woman to marry you is important. Time, occasion, clothes you wear, the way you do it, surroundings . . . it all matters. Roman's reasoning was logical; he said that the woman won't stop talking about it. She'll tell her friends, her family, her coworkers. Again and again. And you don't want to look like a coward in their eyes. You want them to love you too. And you certainly don't want your future wife to have to lie about the engagement, tell a fake story because she thinks the way it actually happened is too boring or embarrassing. Of course Dean had to think it through.

"How long have you been waiting?" Seth asked, and brought Dean back to life from his daydreaming.

"Few weeks."

Dean safeguarded the box again. He put in his pocket but still held it in his hand. It became a treasure he had to protect. A precious treasure that he was a slave of until he could give it to his queen.

Seth was still smiling. He found it amazing that Dean would get married. That he felt ready. That he had found his princess and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Then he started thinking about when that day would come. Dean couldn't wait forever. Okay, so he wanted the perfect moment. Seth realized the problem. "Christmas would be sort of perfect."

"Yeah." Dean sighed.

"Why aren't you spending Christmas together again?"

"You know." The truth was Dean was losing confidence. He missed her. He missed her so much today. And it wouldn't be until another couple of days until he sees her again. "I didn't want it this way. I thought it'd be logical; I thought it was the right thing to do."

"What's logical isn't always the best."

"It sucks," admitted Dean.

The conversation was postponed by the ringing at the door. While Seth went to see who's interrupting their holidays, Dean turned the other way toward the kitchen to get some breakfast. He opened the fridge and took out several options for satisfying their sleeping hunger. For some reason neither of them was really hungry, even though distractions weren't many. Dean put everything on the table and, in the end, grabbed a banana that he found on the counter, ran it under water, and started eating it.

"Dean?" Seth called from across the house. "You need to see this."

Dean started walking in Seth's direction, still holding and eating the banana.

The door was still open. Outside he could see a Christmas tree. Although undecorated, but it was something. Besides, it had a star on top.

"Who is it from?" asked Dean.

"I don't know. But I suspect my neighbor. She was looking at me very suspiciously when I went outside to get the paper."

"You weren't wearing pants, of course she was looking _suspiciously_." He took a bite. "For Christ's sake," he mumbled. "If she saw you now. . . ." Dean shook his head. It was enough for himself to have to see Seth in nothing more than his underpants. "You and your problems. Take the tree and put it inside. And shut the door, you'll get cold," Dean returned to his parental tone.

"You're such a delight," Seth replied. "You really should have been with Renee instead," he returned to the original topic.

Just when Dean finished eating. Now that his hands were empty he decided to take action. If Seth didn't mean to do anything about the Christmas and the cold coming from outside, Dean would. He grabbed it without problems and put it inside. He wouldn't do this quietly, though. "I should have, I know. I should have bought a ticket and surprise her. I don't need to hear it."

"You can still do it," Seth reminded him.

That made Dean wonder. Should he? It would certainly be a nice surprise. But at the same time, his logic would go to waste and he would only lose those days that he had already spent at Seth's place. Still, it was something. Effort counts too. "I should do it," Dean said convinced about having made the right decision.

"You don't have to," a sweet female voice whispered behind his back, and soft arms that certainly did not belong to Seth tied around his body.

Dean had to deal with a shock. A nice kind of shock. His heart stopped beating for a second. Then he saw a huge smile on Seth's face. He paid no attention to the fact that Seth finally closed the door. What mattered to him now was what was happening behind him. Dean turned around to see.

"Merry Christmas," said the girl that had made him speechless.

"Renee!" Dean cried, and took her into his arms. He kissed her as though they haven't kissed in years. When they lips parted, fifteen seconds after their kiss got gentle, Dean wished her, "Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered into her ear.

"I love you," Renee told him.

"I love you more."

Seth interrupted their little romantic moment with saying, "There's your perfect moment, Dean."

Dean immediately looked at him and wished to shout at him, but looking judgmentally was the only thing he did.

"What?" Renee asked.

"Nothing. But he's right. It's perfect."

Renee blushed. She confessed, "I couldn't be without you. And when I heard about your Christmas, Seth's ignoring Christmas," she said, looking at Mr. No-Christmas-this-year, "I had to bring Christmas to you."

Dean kept looking at her lovingly. He felt absolutely happy right now. With her beside him. He wouldn't let her go ever again. She didn't need the hat or the scarf anymore so Dean decided to take them off. Gently, carefully he caressed her cheek and the cold ear of his porcelain doll. At least her neck was warm. But the nose was freezing. "Would you like some tea?" he offered.

She smiled as a confirmation.

Her boyfriend kept touching her, stroking her with care, warming her, showing affection.

"I'm on it," Seth uttered, knowing from the beginning he would be the one to make the hot drunk for the guest. As if there existed something that could separate those two.

"Thanks," both Dean and Renee replied, almost simultaneously. For that brief moment of looking at Seth they let the sight of each other. Then they returned to staring into each other's eyes.

"Perfect," Dean mumbled, daydreaming, while playing with the little black box in his pocket. But he knew this wouldn't be the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

"What happened now?" Renee asked, adjusting Dean's collar. She couldn't take her eyes off the injury below his chin. "Have you walked past a barbed wire?"

Dean sighed. Another attempt to take her hand off his neck failed. All he wanted was help with the shirt and the tie. Not a detailed analysis of the scab.

She sensed his resentment. "Fine." Finally she took the hands off him. Other than the red spot on his neck, he looked great. With his sophisticated look, clothes that made him look like a noble gentleman, and combed hair.

"You should have gotten used to my imperfections," Dean said quietly.

"I _love_ your imperfections," she whispered in his ear. For this, she had to stand on her tiptoes. Right now she appeared so small compared to him. Her shoes were not yet on her feet so it took a lot of effort to reach his lips, but she kissed him. Then she continued, "But you can't expect me not to comment on your injuries. Even the accidental ones that have nothing to do with your dangerous career."

"Dangerous career," he repeated in a sarcastic tone, and laughed. The look on her face made it clear she did not mean it as a joke. Even when he understood this, there was no change. He kept smiling. However, he let go off the topic. Again he reached for the upper part of his shirt, the collar, and watched himself in the mirror while positioning it so that the scab would become invisible. Dean's mouth opened to say something unrelated but then he said, "Like you have no scars." The light eyes were watching her, her shocked reaction of a victim. The smile on his face had disappeared a second earlier but now it was on its way back. He kneeled in front of her, and even before his knees touched the ground his arms were holding her left leg. They pulled down the stocking and the pointy finger on the right hand made a circle around some bruise in the middle of which one could see a scab older no more than two days. Subsequently Dean kissed the leg above the knee and stood up again.

Renee was irritated by her stockings not being of same high anymore so she lifted her left again and decided to take the sock completely off. Dean prevented her from realization of that action by herself; he did it for her.

"Thank you," she said, as he waited for her to lift the other leg as well. Once she found herself barefoot, she told him, "I think I'll handle the rest."

Dean shrugged; he did not mind. "I have nothing better to do." Then he realized there actually was one more thing that he needed to do before leaving. "Oh," he gasped. "I'll be right back." The ring. The most important thing. It was New Year's Eve; this could be a great opportunity for him to propose to her. Even if not, he had to have the ring on him. At all times, as he had until now. Except when he was in the shower, of course. But other that, there was not a single second when the ring would be further away from him than seven feet.

In the time he was gone, she made an incredible progress. From wearing comfortable clothes in which she never left home she changed into her evening dress. The socks were back in the closet, as the rest of the clothes. She exchanged it for a long red dress that she'd stay in until around two in the morning. If everything goes according to the plan. Except the plan had been made only until midnight; what happens January 1, was as of right now a mystery to both of them.

When her boyfriend returned, she was just about to put on earrings. "Why don't you wear the ones I gave you?"

Hearing his voice, she turned around and smiled at him. "You gave me a necklace, not earrings," she corrected him.

Dean thought before he'd continue with the argument. "No, I gave you earrings."

"When, my love?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically.

"This Christmas."

While she laughed and went on with the preparation for the party, he focused on his truth, or what he believed to be the truth. "Don't make me the kind of boyfriend who doesn't know what he gives to her girlfriend. I've picked it myself, and I recognize the jewelry I've bought."

Renee smiled at him and said, "Ok, Mr. I recognize the jewelry I've bought, go recognize it in that drawer." She pointed at the one at the top. "If you see it there, I wear it tonight."

Even if that pair of earrings existed, this was a tremendous challenge for his male mind. How could he recognize the earrings he had picked when he saw earrings of all colors and shapes all together? He spent about two minutes looking through it. It had to exist, he kept reminding himself, and he had to find it.

"Any luck?" Renee asked. She was almost done.

"I can't work under pressure," he mumbled. "It's got to be here. Somewhere." He kept going through the ones that were in front of him, again and again, but nothing. It came down to final hope. "Show me again the ones you're wearing."

He approached her. Those earring seemed familiar, didn't they? To be honest, Dean had no idea. Nobody could expect him to be good at this. His was struggling. All his desires were directed at finding those earrings, proving he was right, proving he could be that kind of guy who pays attention to the kind of presents he gives to his girl. Unfortunately, he couldn't even convince himself.

Now saddened look took charge of his face. Then she focused her eyes on him, took his hand into hers, and guided it to the necklace she put on just a second ago. When he held the pendant in his hand, he looked into her eyes. "That's what you gave me." The disappointment in his eyes was too visible for her to not notice him. The disillusion over himself. "And I love it," added Renee.

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. Once again he returned with his thoughts to the earrings that she was wearing. "Where do you have them from?" She didn't reply at first, so he said, "Ok, I know they're not from me."

"Dean, it's alright. I don't expect you to know these things." Like that sentence helped his manhood. Only then she actually answered the question he posed her. "I got the earrings from Roman."

Dean played with them. He didn't appear happy.

What Renee said, what she believed would make him feel at least a little better, was, "He wouldn't recognize them either."

"That's a poor excuse."

"Here's an idea, Dean," Renee said. "Stop buying something you have no interest in." Before he would misunderstand her, she explained, "I love getting jewelry from you. Anything, really. But I don't want to see you suffer because of something as stupid as your not being able to recognize the gift you've given me. Next time just give me a chocolate massage or something."

Maybe in more distant future he would take her advice. In immediate future, though, he would give her jewelry once more. However, this time he would remember. He had been looking at that diamond ring for over a month. He knew it by heart. Even if he didn't see it, even if he just touched it he'd recognize it. And it wasn't the first ring he saw either. Minutes and minutes he spent looking at it in the store, hours of looking at it at home. Yes, that was the ring he wanted. He had to be sure. Now he was. The only thing left was to use it. When? How? If only he knew. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It wasn't that easy. What's more, he had no assurance she would say yes.

Looking at her now, at her lovely smile, at love in her eyes, he should have been sure. But how could he? There were things going on her mind he had no idea about. What was she thinking now? If his thoughts differed so much from the conversation he was having with her, why wouldn't she be thinking about something unrelated too? "What are you thinking about?" he asked her. If reading her mind was not possible, a simple act of asking would do.

"How hard to please you are." Now it was her turn to ask. And his expression, unlike hers, revealed more that his mind was in fact set on something else than the earring and necklace issue. "What are _you_ thinking about?"

He smiled. He had found the lost peace. "How much I love you," he simply said. Why to make things complicated when they are so simple.

They were ready now. Dressed up as if going to Sydney Opera House. It would be just a New Year's Eve Party, though a high-class one, but there was definitely no need, no requirement, for them to look this good. Dean had it thought out. If he were to propose tonight, he wanted everything to be perfect. Even the clothes. Most importantly, Dean had to make sure that he wouldn't make anything stupid and that when the time comes, when he's ready to pop the question, there's a smile on her face.

"Ok, we have to go now or we'll be late," Renee told him while putting stuff that he didn't get chance to notice into her purse.

"There's no coming late when it comes to a party."

"Tonight there is. We need to arrive before midnight."

Dean checked the clock. They had plenty of time. "Even if we couldn't get a cab, even if we had to come back because you have forgotten something, even if –"

Renee hushed him, with a finger pressed against his lips. "I get it."

There was insistence that not even good persuasion could change. Dean said, "I'll get a cab." Then he remembered he missed one more thing. A sheet of paper that he had laid in between his clothes in the closet. A place where he believed Renee would not found it. The paper was soaked in her perfume and covered in ink. Perfume was part of a strategy. It proved beneficial. As he hoped, it helped him to come up with words. To imagine her and imagine him saying those words that he would eventually say to her. A speech he had prepared as a backbone of engagement. Why he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Those words did not come easily to him. Not that he sat down by the desk with a blank A4 paper in front of him and a blue pen in his hand and had nothing to write, that he spent hours just sitting there, getting more and more frustrated because he realized he had nothing to say, or didn't know how to say it. The latter maybe, but in reality within five minutes he had written half a page. Then he threw it away and started over. And again. Each time from scratch. Then he came with a version that was better than those before, at least he thought so. And then he started crossing out words, substituting them for new ones that seemed more proper. It had far from appealing appearance. But the point was still there. And although he read it several times, learning it by heart in the process, he had to have the sheet of paper with him when, if, the moment arrives.

Renee realized she had lost him three minutes ago. Watching him, it became clear speaking to him would make no difference. He was too deep in his thoughts. Despite this, Renee decided to give it a shot. "Dean?" She was smiling while looking at him, knowing he would not respond. "Dean," she called again.

Out of nowhere, he returned to reality. "I have to get something." With a finger on his left hand he was pointing at the door leading to the bedroom.

In the look Renee gave him there was no understanding but there was acceptance. "I'll wait outside." She didn't ask for explanation. Just a little kiss on his cheek. . . .

"I'll be there in two minutes." He hugged her goodbye as though he was never meant to see her again, and smiled.

"In the meantime, I'll get the cab."

As soon as she left he turned left to enter the bedroom. Then he walked over to the closet and opened it. On the shelf under some sweaters he never wore awaited him the letter. Hidden, safeguarded, in an envelope that read Xmas 2014. Now it was a little outdated, but if he used it before the end of the year it would be alright. He was sure that until now nobody opened the envelope. He knew if Renee saw it, no, if she looked inside, he would notice. Because the look on her face would change once she'd open the first envelope and find the next one. The one that has _Last Will and Testament_ printed on it. Only if she opened that envelope, something she definitely wouldn't have courage to do, she would see the letter addressed to her but not made for her to read.

He found it without problems. It was where he last put it. Undamaged – at least from the outside. The envelopes remained between his clothes; all he needed was the letter. To check if there was something he had forgotten. Or in case he starts speaking and the words don't come naturally to him. So that he can take the letter out and read it. So that everything works out just right.

Now he could leave. Finally he believed he had everything. The ring. The speech. Formal clothes that finally he found an occasion to wear and don't feel stupid in it. Perfect woman waiting outside.

He locked the door and walked outside just to find his perfect woman being hit on by the cab driver. Dean took no time and approached his girlfriend immediately, with an angry, suspicious look on his face that needed no order to appear.

"Finally," Renee gasped. She looked like she was having fun. She was still smiling; and this time it wasn't Dean who brought that emotion.

The two continued chatting for another minute. Dean had to ask, "Am I invisible?" This question was directed at the driver whose behavior was inappropriate.

"I'm sorry," said the driver, and got inside the cab.

The second Dean helped Renee inside, he heard her saying, "He's really jealous." Angrily he walked to his side and got in as well.

Only when Dean was sitting next to Renee he whispered, "I leave you alone for one second and –"

"And?" asked Renee in a tone that made Dean reconsider whether he really wanted to finish the sentence.

Dean remained quiet. Renee turned toward the driver again and said, adding to characteristics of her partner, "And he's insecure."

"Why are you telling him this?" Dean whispered so that the driver would not hear him.

"Because it's true."

"That does not matter. But why do you think he needs to know it?"

Renee had answer to this question too. "I don't want him to think you're not a nice guy." And added, "When you're the nicest guy I know."

"That's not true," disagreed Dean.

Renee smiled. "See, now that's something he doesn't need to know." Dean smiled as well. But the good mood disappeared when Renee decided to continue in her conversation with the driver. "He does this all the time," she spoke of Dean.

"And you don't mind?" asked the driver.

"You get used to it," she said, showing it really was no big deal to her. "It's complimenting sometimes. You know, he shows he cares."

Even from their backseats they could see the driver shaking his head.

"For one thing, I know you're not that different to him, Tim," said Renee.

"I don't get jealous."

"So you're telling me you didn't get jealous at all when Sally brought that guy from work home?"

Now Dean interrupted their discussion. "You two know each other?"

Renee chuckled. "Dean, Tim. Tim, Dean." She turned to Dean and said, "His girlfriend used to be my neighbor."

"Oh."

"Now he won't say anything for the rest of the ride," Renee said, and she was right. Dean felt too embarrassed to even look at either of them until they arrived to their destination.

She said goodbye, he waited at the sidewalk. She came to him with good mood. He was wondering. "Do you really think I am jealous?"

She answered while walking inside the hotel where the party was taking place. "It's a fact. You are a jealous type of guy." Since it was not good news, it could not cheer him up. "Dean, I don't mind."

"Yeah, I know, you _got used _to it," he pronounced despicably.

"Once this girl told me – I don't remember who it was or when it happened – that you – and she didn't know you – that you are either jealous guy, overly-protective one, or one that doesn't give a damn about his girlfriend. I prefer overly-protective one."

"But you'd be much more glad if I were just normal."

"What's normal?" she countered.

She meant it as a rhetorical question but Dean answered anyway. "A guy who accepts that his girlfriend talks to other guys without being suspicious of them."

"I never minded your way."

"Never _minded_," Dean pointed at the mistake in her choice of words.

Renee laughed. "Fine." She got more serious. "I love your way."

"That's better," he uttered in a joking kind of way to ease the atmosphere. But then, maybe under some invisible pressure, he added, "I'll try to work on my jealousy." He thought he would have to. If he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, or, better said, if he wants _her_ to spend the rest of her life with him, he better leave the jealousy behind and be glad she's with him. Other guys talking to or even flirting with his girlfriend posed no threat as long as Renee felt affectionate only about him.

"Now leave those thoughts behind and let's have fun."

They entered the big hall where everybody was already partying, many were drunk even at this early stage.

"Would you like to drink something?" Dean said, offering to get an alcoholic drink for both of them.

"Sure," she replied, but she was faster in obtaining the drinks. She got them from waiter passing by with a tray of champagne. She took two glasses and handed one to Dean.

"So you get the cab and drinks tonight?" He chuckled. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Love me," she joked.

"Done," he replied. "What's my next task?"

"Find Robert and Sandra."

That Dean did not find very interesting. "Why? Just because we're among people does not mean we have to spend time with them."

Renee had to appreciate the humorous part of it. "You always do this." She drank a bit of her drink. "I forgot; what was your life like without me?"

Dean knew exactly what to say to appeal to her. "Boring."

"We had a plan. You can be spontaneous again as soon as the clock strikes twelve. Can you do that?" she asked.

A sigh served as a response. He would try. He'd postpone the spontaneity until later. But he couldn't promise everything would go exactly according to the plan; that meant according to _her_ plan.

Her phone had already been ringing for about ten seconds but in such noise she noticed only now.

"That's not part of the plan," Dean attacked when she grabbed it to answer it. She smiled at him, but intended to answer it anyway.

"I'll be back in two minutes," she said, and left his sight.

Dean waited, not willing to take part in what was happening around him. He held his drink, but he wasn't too interested in drinking it either. For a simple reason, he didn't want to get drunk tonight. That perfect moment he had been waiting for could arrive at any moment, and his drunk self would not express himself that well.

Two minutes had passed, and he was still waiting. Unfortunately for the couple, the place was getting more and more crowded and the chance of encountering each other after short separation was slighter now than two minutes ago. Dean even got to calling her; that was a clear expression of his lack of belief in meeting his girlfriend that easily in this arena of bulls. Probably, though, she had already entered and for this she couldn't hear her phone ringing. Only now Dean was realizing what a huge mistake he had made when he let her go. Moreover, right now he couldn't see any people he'd know either. He was all alone in the large hall.

He'd wait for her. What was important was not moving much. She knew where she saw him last. If she followed that logic she would find him without difficulty.

Clearly she knew what to do in situations like these. Maybe it wasn't two minutes, but she returned in no more than ten.

"Sorry for waiting," she jokingly told him. As her hand was empty and he still had the glass half full – although she didn't know it was still his first one – she took the glass and finished the champagne. Maybe that was a mistake. "Would you mind if I left for another minute?"

"Yes."

She could have predicted that answer. But she needed to go to the restroom. "I need to . . ." she said with urgency. Although it was so loud she felt uncomfortable finishing the sentence.

"I'll wait outside. Because there's no way I'm risking losing you again."

He lost her again.

Standing and waiting in front of the door to the ladies' room proved not such an easy task. A distraction arrived with Rob's notice of him. Dean could not pretend to not know him once he got recognized by Renee's friend. Or more like a boyfriend of Renee's friend. To Dean, though, both Robert and Sandra were nothing more than acquaintances.

"Dean," Rob, a tall thirty-something guy with short brown hair and businessman appearance, greeted him.

"Hey. What's up?" Dean replied with a question he did not care about. He didn't sound as enthusiastic as the other guy. Then again, he did not try.

"Good to see you here. Happy New Year, in case I won't see you again till midnight. It's crazy here, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The man in light green shirt and dark green tie noticed that there was something missing in Dean's hand. "Would you like to drink something?"

"I'm waiting for Renee." Dean pointed at the door to his left.

Like Robert cared. He placed his left hand on Dean's shoulder and guided him away from the somewhat quiet area. "She'll join us later. How is she anyway?"

They were walking further and further away from where Dean was supposed to wait. Now he found himself with a glass of something stronger than champagne in his hand. "Where's your girlfriend . . . Sasha?" Dean asked hesitantly. No, that's not her name, Dean realized almost immediately, however, still too late.

"Sandra," Rob corrected him, but laughed. "She's not here. She stayed at home. She had to work or something . . . I don't know."

"Oh, that's right, she's not from New York, is she?"

"No," was a short answer. The guy did not seem interested in this topic too much.

"Is everything alright?" What strange impulse made Dean ask this question he didn't know. For one thing, he didn't even care.

"It's great, really. I'm pretty sure right now she's fucking someone in Colorado, but then again, I'm here with someone else. In the end, what matters is that we're celebrating our fifth anniversary in March and that we still love each other."

Even to Dean that relationship sounded wrong. And he used to think he was not a good boyfriend. He had to smile when he realized that in reality his relationship with Renee was almost perfect.

They just finished their glasses when the guy shouted, "There she is. My lovely Sharona." The blonde girl smiled at them and continued walking over to them. On the way, she grabbed two glasses of champagne that she put down on the table near which the guys were standing.

"Hi," the girl, or rather a woman for she appeared even older than the guy, said to Dean, whom she never met before.

"Hey." Dean turned to the person he knew longer. "I better go find Renee." He grabbed the almost full glass that belonged to him.

"Come to see us later." _Sure we will_, a sarcastic thought crossed Dean's mind.

All he wanted was his girlfriend. All he got were people who he didn't know and had no interest in getting to know them. . . . He knew he wasn't supposed to leave.

Once again, he concluded that the best thing to do would be trying to reach her on her phone. How happy and relieved Dean felt when he heard Renee's ringtone.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized as soon as he turned to see her face. The one he missed so much. "I know I was supposed to wait," he continued in his sincere apology.

"That's alright."

There was something different about her. Voice less cheerful and face looking more tired. Regardless of the visible evidences, Dean did not notice anything.

"It's all because of Rob."

"Robert?" That name caught Renee's attention. "Where are they?"

"He saw me so he made me go with him to drink something. But he's here alone," he told her. "Well, not alone. His girlfriend Sa . . ."

Seeing the hesitation Renee decided to help him. However, Dean remembered quickly enough so they ended up saying the name simultaneously. "Sandra."

"Yeah," Dean continued. "She's working or something so Rob brought his date."

"What?"

"I know. It's all so weird. I guess they have some problems, although," he said in a cheered tone, "he seems to be okay with it. He didn't even get angry talking about how Sandra probably cheats on him."

Renee was disgusted. So was Dean, but he did not let it show.

"If you want to talk to him, I'm sure he'll be glad, he's somewhere over there." Dean stretched out his arm to point, and gave some pretty unclear and possibly misleading directions. "I don't know. I've already got bad impression of him. And your friend too. Does she know about this?" Renee remained quiet so Dean posed another question. "Is she really cheating on him? Damn! Now I really see how lucky we are to be together and not deal with those things. . . . Urgh." A surprise laughter followed. "Wouldn't it be great if Sandra came just as those two would be in the middle of sex?" At that moment Dean realized he should not talk about it this openly, or at least he could speak more quietly. "I should stop." Then something strange occurred to him. "Am I gossiping?"

It brought a reserved smile on Renee's face. "You're cute."

"That's not what I was going for." He smiled too. "Seriously, I'm done." Just to make sure, he asked again. "Do you want to see him?"

"No." She also shook her head. Peacefully. If he looked cute, she did too. However, more tired.

Now he noticed. "It's too early for you to be sleepy." Renee resignedly nodded. "Let's get this party going." Finally he found that task for himself that he had been looking for earlier. To wake up the sleepy beauty. Oh, she looked peacefully wonderful. "I'll get something for you."

"Don't go –" she called urgently, but Dean was not going far. Just to get something for her to drink. As he already had a glass of champagne in his hand – still almost full.

When she accepted the glass he got for her, which cost some persuasion on Dean's part, Dean decided for a simple toast. "To the amazing night. To I'll never lose you again." He leaned forward to whisper, "I promise."

He emptied the glass. Renee hesitated. Her lips only touched the liquid inside the glass, liquid that the nose had smelt without being aware of it. She couldn't drink it. Something made her reconsider the decision to drink the champagne that repulsed her. She felt sick. "I don't want it," she said, and literally pushed the glass into Dean's hand. It was still too late. Her feet changed direction. She hurried into the bathroom.

Keeping his promise was not a factor that played role in Dean's decision to follow her. He was worried, that's what prevented him from stopping in front of the door where he had waited before. Now he entered the ladies' room. . . . Stupid women and their scream at the sight of a man inside a room where no men were allowed. Dean really wished to take care of his girlfriend, to find out what was going on with her, but those women, and especially one older lady that almost started hitting him with her purse, wouldn't allow him to take the responsibility that was thrust upon him as a caring boyfriend.

Once again, he waited. What changed was the attitude. The urgency. The concerns. He was dying to be with her. What was the point of knowing something was wrong with her when he couldn't help her?

"Renee," he called, but it wasn't her who just walked out the door. He tried to peek inside, however, he saw nothing.

She left the room five minutes later. "Renee." His voice sounded urgent, terrified to death. "Are you alright?" It was a stupid question, he realized that.

Renee's eyes focused on the glasses in Dean's hands. When he noticed the wish in her eyes for him to put them away, he did so. "How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Yes." Then she changed her mind. "I don't know. Maybe not."

"What happened? You drank too much?"

"No." She wasn't lying. Maybe she drank more than him, but still little compared to other people.

Still, reason was of no importance. Dean wanted to make her feel better. When he took her into his arms, all symptoms revealed to him. The coldness of her skin. Paleness. Shivering underneath his fingers. He looked into her eyes, but sweat on her forehead caught his attention. "You wanna go home?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Feeling fine wasn't the reason why she nodded.

"You're not alright. We can go home, Renee."

"No." She changed nodding into shaking head. "It's barely eleven. We're here to celebrate New Year. That's that pl –"

"Plan?" Dean interrupted. Then came the laughter. "Darling, I don't care about some plan." He would need to try harder to persuade her. "I don't want to see you suffer." He spoke with all seriousness. "Or even worse, falling onto the floor. I worry about you," he added when he noticed she wanted to say something to disagree. "You're tired. You don't feel well. So what if we leave early?"

"But it's New Year's Eve."

"I know, my love." That loving look on his face . . . he didn't give a damn about celebrating the last day of the year. "Let's go."

She lingered a second longer, but nothing changed. All that mattered to him was her well-being. And she didn't feel well enough to stay. Partying sounded as a joke to her right now.

They left immediately. Renee felt worse and worse. At one point she even started to doubt whether she'd be able to reach her apartment. At least she had a guy to take care of her. Even carry her home if it were necessary. . . . And even if not.

The traffic delayed their arrival but they finally reached the sweet home. It was not midnight yet. Still, even inside they could hear the loud noises from all parts of New York. It was New Year's Eve, everybody was celebrating . . . except them. Dean became a caring nurse that helped the patient to the bed. He prepared a hot drink for her, however, when he entered the bedroom Renee was asleep. The closed windows isolated some of the noise but for Dean it was still not enough. Renee did not care. She was snuggled in the bed. Hopefully she would get some rest.

Only when he was sure his lovely princess was alright, he took care of himself. Got rid of the clothes, drank the tea he had prepared for Renee. It took some time before he went to bed too. At one point fireworks distracted him and made him realize it was New Year. He stopped for three seconds, smiled, and then continued in his previous activity. Dean did not go to bed immediately. First he just sat down by Renee and watched her, caressed her hair, observed whether the symptoms had disappeared. Most of them seemed to be gone now. What remained was paleness but he was sure that would be gone in the morning too.

"Goodnight," he whispered, and stroked her cold cheek. The rest of her body was warm underneath the duvet.

The last thing he did was making sure the alarm was off and that there was nothing that could wake Renee up.

Dean was already awake when Renee opened her eyes and started stretching in bed.

"Happy New Year," Dean wished her. Of course he was by her side from early morning. Now he sat down and held her hand. A kiss was a gesture meaning good morning.

"What's the time?"

"Nine."

Renee looked disappointed. "That's awkward. I slept through midnight."

That made Dean chuckle. "It was cute, actually." He moved away from her to get his phone. "I made you something." He opened a picture. Renee was asleep, Dean was sitting next to her, his arm around her, a bottle of champagne in his hand.

There was a change connected to seeing alcohol again. Something she hated for stopping her from having New Year's Eve she wanted. Something that prevented her from celebration with her caring boyfriend. "Were you here with me all night?"

"Of course."

'Why didn't you go back? You could have celebrated . . ."

"You're stupid if you think I would return there without you."

She blushed at the compliment. "Thank you."

Gratitude was present but for him not necessary. "You feel better now?" Dean turned into doctor again. Were the signs of weakness gone?

"Mhm." She nodded, but let him keep his hand on her forehead. Then it slipped on her cheek which it stroked with the back of the hand.

"Would you like some tea or coffee? Or something stronger?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head furiously. "Tea . . . maybe."

"And for breakfast?"

"Tea."

"That's it?"

"I'm not hungry," she explained. She omitted the part that she still didn't feel that well, at least not back to normal.

What if I prepared you some eggs and bacon?"

That suggestion almost made her sick again. "Dean, thanks, but no," she refused politely.

"Okay."

One last kiss on the cheek before he disappeared into kitchen, to get her light breakfast consisting of tea ready. Not even two minutes have passed and he could already hear her turning water on in the bathroom.

While waiting for the water to boil, Dean returned to the bedroom and made the bed. He opened the window to to let fresh air in. Cold wind blew in his face but it was a nice feeling. The city was calmer now but still far from being quiet.

On the way back to the kitchen he turned on the radio and waited for his girlfriend to arrive. He got the tea ready and put the mug down on the table. He had already eaten so he sat down without having a plate with food in front of him. Just a cup of coffee.

Dean stood up the moment he heard Renee leaving the bathroom. Before she could enter the kitchen her boyfriend was standing in the door, watching her as she put on a sweater and checked her phone. It was full of calls and messages, New Year wishes and links to pictures and funny gifs. All that could wait.

"I feel like I've missed a whole year."

"Just the best hours of it," joked Dean.

"And you . . . if it weren't for me, you'd be having fun –"

"I don't mind." He was honest with her. "Besides, I'm glad you've learned a lesson." To explain, he said, "You can't plan."

"I suppose you're right."

She came over to him, and let him kiss her. On lips this time.

"So what are your plans for today?" Dean asked. It was hard to tell if he really meant the question or had only teasing intentions.

"I don't have any. As you've said, I've learned my lesson . . . no more planning. . . . It would go to waste anyway," she added.

They walked into the kitchen. He would sat down, but when he noticed she'd drink her tea standing up, he changed his mind. "Would you like to go out? I was thinking that if you feel alright we could go celebrate our New Year. Drink something –"

At that point Renee stopped him. "I'm not drinking anything today."

"Okay, that's fine." He smiled at her. "How about hot chocolate instead?" He was sure this suggestion would cheer her up.

"No. I don't know. I don't want to drink or eat anything today." Not even the cup of tea she held in her hand, she realized.

"Wouldn't you prefer going back to bed?"

"No." She was certain. "I'm alright, Dean. Really. I just don't feel like eating – that's all."

"Do you feel well enough to go out?"

"Yes," she said, forbidding herself to sound even slightly hesitant. "But no drinking, no eating in a restaurant."

"Just fresh air," he assured her.

"I like that."

"So you're ready to go?"

She looked at her clothes and laughed. "No." She was under-dressed for going somewhere people could see her. Knee socks. Sweater. Short skirt that she put on just because it was the first thing she found. "And you're good to go?"

"Yes," he replied.

"In this?" Renee asked, making sure because the clothes did not seem as proper to her as to him. A stain on his T-shirt was only one thing that caught her attention.

"Yes."

Something was different. Few months ago she would have minded. Now it didn't matter to her. "Okay. But I need to change." Maybe somewhere deep inside she expected him to say _no, you don't_. He didn't say anything. There was a simple reason. He knew better than to send his girlfriend outside in short skirt and risk her health.

She turned to go into the bedroom but Dean called, "Could you grab me a jacket?"

She was ready in five minutes. Putting too much effort into getting ready seemed unnecessary. Her clothes was adequate in regard to weather, and that was what mattered. The hair looked fine. Make-up . . . a simple one sufficed. And Dean's jacket, she reminded herself before leaving the room. When she was almost by the door she remembered another thing. Her phone. Full of unread messages. Just from curiosity she wanted to check who they were from and what they were about. New Year, evidently. . . . One caught her attention.

"You've sent me a text message?" she called toward the kitchen. "Dean?"

Immediately he appeared in the door. "Oh, yeah."

It was the same picture Dean had showed her before. A self-invited question popped into her mind. "You didn't send this to other people, have you?" Her "drunk" New Year picture was far from being something she wanted her friends to see.

Her eyes were begging for a negative answer. The tension was rising proportionally to the time that has passed.

"No."

Now she sighed, feeling relieved. There was another reason. The feeling of satisfaction, calmness because of realization she could trust him. They were a team. If one fell, they both did. If one were hurt, the other would be lying on the ground in pain.

"Let's go," she said. Her phone was in the pocket. She hasn't even noticed that it had been muted. That was a step Dean undertook in order to make sure ringing and beeping wouldn't wake his girlfriend up. He was caring enough to guarantee the calm environment required for healing process.

Her words did not reflect the actions. Legs did not move. Eyes were set on Dean. Arms reached for him and hands touched his body. Unresponsive was not a word defining what was happening with him. But he was controlling himself. He accepted the kiss that Renee demanded. And then he asked, "Can we go now?"

It took her a lot to say, "Yes. But we'll have some business when we return."

Dean smiled. "I count on that."

Finally, they left the apartment. It was nice outside. Less people than usually. Hangover people probably stayed at home. Cool weather allowed for sensation of freshness. And they could walk hand in hand, enjoying other person's closeness. At first they only walked. For they haven't set a goal for their journey, and they had no need to hurry anywhere, this was a carefree activity. For now.

Maybe things have changed since yesterday; they were no longer wearing formal clothes, they didn't have that gala appearance, and it wasn't New Year's Eve either. But they were together. They were happy and they loved each other. None of that has changed. The engagement was still on. Dean was aware of that as they walked down the street. He had the ring and the speech. He was still thinking about it . . . how, when, and so on. But he wished for that perfect moment. Their clothes became perfect in his eyes. Her smile made up for everything. The desire that took the highest spot in his mind was a simple, one-syllable word. _Yes_.

Now what about that perfect place? He knew of one that kept somehow special place for both of them. A tall building. One of New York's skyscrapers.

He was a bit surprised when he got her there. The last time they were on Empire State Building things did not go well. Well, this was an opportunity to make a nicer memory of the place.

Today she was smiling. "Do you remember the last time we were here?" She was able to ask without losing her good mood.

Dean followed her to the edge of the observation deck. From behind he wrapped his arms around her and laced his fingers with hers. "Yes."

Maybe sentimentality was the main reason why she decided to open the topic. Or to see how things have changed since then. How much better they have gotten.

"That day we almost broke up." She herself realized that she, just as her boyfriend, did not want to talk about it. So, easing the atmosphere, she added, "Well, I hope today will end better."

It would. And maybe he was even glad for her bringing up the subject. Their memory of the not so nice first visit to the building would be changed forever. Today would become something nostalgia would make them return to in their minds. Yes, it was the perfect place.

"I have something for you," Renee said, as she turned around to look at him.

That's funny, he thought, 'cause I have something for you too. . . . That would have to wait. Well, there was no hurry anyway.

"I know Christmas is long gone, but there is one present I haven't given you yet."

"That's not necessary. . . ."

"I know. I want to give it to you."

"I don't need anything."

"The box waited underneath the tree until this morning. I can't believe I forgot and you didn't notice."

"Renee, I already have everything."

"So do I." That was what the present was supposed to represent. From her bag she took out the said box. Wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper and tied with a ribbon. Not to miss anything, she added a red bow. The name of the recipient was not necessary. This was a present she would not give him in public, in front of anybody. That was why she left it at home when she visited Dean at Seth's place. That was why she didn't give it to him in the first place together with the rest of the presents that were meant to be opened in Iowa. Maybe this wasn't the best time to give it to him, but the place wasn't crowded and those people would not care anyway. So she gave it to him. "Merry Christmas. Again."

"Renee." He kept the impression of not wanting to receive the present, even being offended by it, but he took it. Honestly, he was a bit curious to see what was inside. "Thank you." He finally surrendered.

First, he shook the box . . . of course he did. It was light and nothing seemed to have broken by his deliberate action.

She hated the waiting. More and more she was losing confidence. This wasn't a gift he would give to her boyfriend without having doubts about it. She battled with her brain telling her it was stupid. Well, it was. But so what?

"What's going on?" he asked when he noticed her upset face.

"I can't stand it. Just open it, please . . . or I'll take it back."

"Am I teasing you?"

"No. But I feel stupid for giving you this."

Dean smirked. "Stupid?" he repeated, and shook his head.

She felt like a teenage girl. Well, it was something a teenage girl would give to her boyfriend, she guessed. But what was she supposed to do when she felt that way?

"A teddy bear?" There was indeed a white polar bear, fluffy and cute. And so warm. Renee blushed under the pressure of Dean's look. The smile that grew wider ever since it saw the content of the box. "Thank you, darling." His senses noticed something. When he verified the assumption he learned that the judgment of his senses was correct. "It smells like you."

"It's stupid," Renee repeated. Just to be proved wrong by her boyfriend. He was delighted with this kind of present. So sweet and thoughtful. Not serious albeit playful.

"It's the one thing I don't have. Thank you. I love you." He hugged her, but kiss was needed, he realized. To show appreciation, to show it was not stupid at all and that it made him happy. One had to notice that it brought joy to his face. "Thank you so much." His lips again connected with hers. This time he engaged his tongue and wished to thank in a different way too. For now all he could do was to look and touch as though there were small kids around. The privacy they'd gain later, when they get home, would make up for this moment. Their lips parted slowly . . . it took them some time. Their will was strong and it kept fighting against those who preferred separation. The success meant defeat. But now that they gave each other some space and Dean wanted to put the bear back in the box, he noticed the fluffy animal wasn't it. "There's something else."

That was even more embarrassing. Renee's cheeks turned pink again.

"What is it?" Dean asked, even though he knew Renee would not answer and he was already looking at a postcard. A loving, curious smile found its safe place on his face once more. The paper was thick and it looked luxurious. But the appearance was inferior to the content. Dean started reading it to himself in silence but soon he changed his mind. Without looking around – there weren't many people anyway – he cleared his throat, making himself sound serious and frivolous at once, and started at the beginning. "A real boyfriend:" he said, reading that part for the second time. He decided to change the attitude. Saying it teasingly would be a really stupid thing to do. This mattered to Renee. He appreciated her trying. Moreover, nobody was there to judge him, to laugh at the superficiality or over-sentimentality. "A real boyfriend:" Dean repeated with grave voice. Before continuing, he looked at Renee, at her insecure face. "Calls you for nothing," Dean said, smiling, "texts you all the time, wants to see you, cries, gets jealous, is overprotective and loves you."

The initial instinct was the one he decided to follow. His left hand on her cheek, the right closing her eyes. Mouth losing the fight to the attraction toward her soft albeit cold lips. When he parted his lips, he unintentionally blew some cold air into her mouth. Like she cared. Her mouth was inviting him to enter, to join the party. The strength of the desire was strong, but not even that could force his brain shut. The need for the appreciation of what she was doing for him. The love shared by both sides. The necessity of being together. Forever. The understanding, the honesty, the acceptance of the flaws, both own and of the other person. Yes, he was jealous, yes, he was overprotective. They both knew it.

"And I love him," Renee added.

The perfect moment. He waited for over a month, maybe even two . . . he did not remember and it did not matter. But now he had her standing in front of him, loving him at least as much as at the end of the year, if not more. And he felt the same toward her. He loved her more and more each day, each second. He got all he ever wanted. Her. Now he could get the guarantee of that to never change. But it wasn't that easy. Would she say yes? Look at her, his brain told him. Her face, her eyes revealed the answer to him. She was a poor liar. Her love was pure. So he got that. He had perfect place, perfect time. There was the perfect moment. His left hand reached into the left pocket of his pants. The sheet of paper that was probably the only thing that wasn't perfect. But it would serve well. In this case, only purpose mattered. Then the time came for the right pocket. The one hiding the treasure. Only the girl in front of Dean was more precious. The small dark blue leather box. He was tossing it around inside the pocket, not because of desire to play with it but because of nervousness. He breathed in, and out even more deeply. _This is it_. The perfect moment has arrived. The next in line was perfect, unforgettable scene performed by master actor. That would lead to the grandiose, ultimate perfect moment.


	4. Chapter 4

She was just across the room. Blonde hair, black dress. Smile on her face. That easy yet seductive smile. Heart-warming. Her lips kept moving, but he couldn't hear a sound. . . . The guy next to her certainly did. The one she has been chatting with. . . . Maybe it was a normal conversation between two friends, or acquaintances. Maybe it was a work discussion. Yet from where Dean was standing, it appeared more like a talk two people have in a bar before heading off to one's place. It was making Dean uneasy, yes, but he didn't do anything about it. He just swallowed his pride and looked away.

"Wow," Seth commented. Of course he noticed what Dean was actually paying attention to. But to Seth, and for that matter to everybody who would be watching him, Dean appeared calm. "How come you're not already telling him to fuck off? Have you made a New Year's resolution to be less jealous?"

Dean returned to watching her. Anger building up. He had to keep hurting his fingers with his nails so that the frustration would not eat him alive. Yes, he wished to walk up to that guy and punch him in the face. "No," Dean said, although with so much anger it was hard to hear between his almost sealed lips. Also, one couldn't tell whether it was an answer to Seth's question or disillusion over what was happening by that wall.

"You've softened up. Guys are not afraid of you anymore. See? That cameraman, Greg, or what's his name, keeps flirting with your girlfriend. You can see no fear in his eyes." Like Seth could see his eyes that were set on Renee. Still, he had a point.

And Dean's strategy to set him on fire from distance did not work either. Either he says something or he has to accept defeat.

"I don't get it," Seth continued in the monologue. "You stand here, you clearly have a problem with it. Just do something."

"No."

Seth was glad Dean was listening to him, although his eyes belonged to another object in the room.

"It's not like people don't expect you to intervene." Not even that sentence changed anything about Dean's attitude. "You know what's the problem, Dean?" Dean awarded him with a second-long glimpse before returning to what actually interested him. "You're too fucking slow. Why you keep waiting? Why isn't that ring on her finger yet?"

It's been over two months, it was about time Dean act.

"Seriously. How do you expect other men to leave her alone when they do not know your intentions with her? More importantly, when _she_ doesn't know what your plans are."

"Shut up, Seth." So Dean was not in mood to have a serious discussion with Seth. Then again, this never prevented Seth from talking.

He went on. "Each day you lose confidence. You know, there's such a thing as waiting too long." He took a pause to see if Dean meant to say something, or at least look at him. No, of course not. Dean's business did not concern the guy standing next to him. "I've told you, that 'perfect moment,' " he said sarcastically, "does not exist."

"It does," Dean objected.

"So when is it gonna arrive, huh?" It was a teasing question.

"It already did."

Now that information caught Seth's interest. It prompted the process in his brain of creating follow-up questions. "So you're engaged?" Still, the fact was, there was no ring on Renee's finger. At least not an engagement ring.

Dean sighed. "No."

Only now it seemed to have hit Seth. The truth. Dean's anger and frustration. The expression on Seth's face, the one of horror, sympathy, reflected how he felt. "Oh my god!" he exclaimed. "She said no?"

At first Dean didn't say anything. And his facial expression as well as posture of his body signaled Seth's assumption might have been correct. Dean let his friend in this belief for a while. Then he told him the truth. Part of it. "She didn't say no. I haven't asked."

Dean's hand slipped into the pocket. Another missed opportunity. But the box was still on him. Without taking it out, without seeing it, using the fingers of his right hand only he opened the box and touched the ring. A spontaneous reaction to that sensation was a smile. A smile that would not last for ten seconds.

The floor that his eyes has been staring at for no reason was not interesting. He had to return to that sight; he knew he would. Maybe it was chance, maybe it was destiny that he caught her looking at him. But now she looked away anyway. She returned to her conversation. For a short moment only, though.

At the same time, Seth kept speaking to Dean, who would not listen. Now his senses were able to focus only on one person, and Seth certainly wasn't that person. The only question, which might have been asked several times, that Dean's ear caught was, "Why?"

Without replying, without saying something that would explain why Dean kept postponing one of the most important moments in his life, Dean kept being a witness to a conversation that was taking place too far away from him to hear. _Let it end_, he begged. Yes, he was jealous. That was something he couldn't help. It was an automatic reaction that he was unable to control. He'd think it'd get better with time. It didn't. Renee was right; he was a jealous guy. And right now she had to know he was staring at them. At Renee with that _Greg_ or whoever it was.

Seth looked too. With Dean paying so little attention to him, he either looked at Renee or left. And he had a minute to waste.

The tension was rising. Dean's breathing quickened and got heavier. "Leave her alone," Dean whispered words directed at the guy.

That man did not listen to Dean's advice. Not at all. He kept on talking and talking and talking, until he kissed Renee.

"Whoa," Seth exclaimed, and his hand quickly jumped to his mouth to shut it. He looked at Dean to see what he would do.

Dean looked like he was about to explode. Tear every living thing in the room apart, that's what his moving hands and stretching fingers were suggesting would happen. His self-control was damaged and only some magic kept him from attacking that guy whose tongue somehow managed to enter Renee's mouth.

"Why are they still kissing?" Seth suddenly asked. He noticed, maybe only now, that Renee never objected to the kiss. That she was as much kissing him as he was kissing her. With those thoughts on his mind, and a need for explanation, Seth turned to Dean. "What's going on?"

Dean stood there for another minute. Although being in pain, he couldn't move. Now the anger was on its way to leave. All the strength was leaving him. Pain, sorrow, weakness was what was left. It didn't get any better with Renee's look, right after the kiss was over. She saw him suffering, and she did nothing. If something, she only made it worse.

"Dean?" Seth's voice was calling him from the end of the tunnel, bringing him back to life.

"What?" asked Dean in a lethargic voice.

"She's . . ." How to ask, Seth kept wondering. "She's not cheating on you, is she?" Of course the answer would be no. It all became clear. Maybe Dean didn't even need to say it, however, Seth wanted to hear it from him. Or, actually, he didn't. He wanted assurance that everything was alright. Although he saw it wasn't.

"No," Dean said.

"What happened?"

He said slowly, "You know." Yes, he did. Now. Dean did as well. But somehow it needed to be said out loud. Most of all, it was Seth who needed to hear it to believe it. And Dean decided to do Seth this favor. "We broke up."

"What? Why? I don't get it." Seth's brain had chance to deal with this information for the past two minutes, yet only now it started to work on it. It became overwhelming. So many questions, so little answers. "How? Didn't you want to propose to her?"

"Yes."

Originally the following question was different in his head, but what he ended up asking was, "Does she know?"

"No. And I'd prefer if it stayed that way."

"But . . ." Seth's eyes were watering. Dean went through that stage. Now he was just numb. "It can't be," Seth kept protesting, like that could change the reality.

"That's how it is." He tried to make himself believe that sentence, especially when he was looking at Renee with that other guy. They may have broken up, but he was still jealous. It wouldn't go away that easily. Neither would disappear his feelings for her.

The painful scene seemed so far from over. Seth felt sympathetic for Dean. How could Renee be kissing other guy in front of him? Why would she? It did not seem to be something she would do. . . . This realization led to conclusion. She had to be mad at him. Otherwise she wouldn't want to hurt him, would she? "Why did you break up?" What Seth was really asking was, _What did you do?_

Like he could expect him to answer.

Maybe Dean wasn't without guilt, but that did not mean he wasn't hurting. Then again, nobody would be surprised by his reaction to seeing some other man kiss a girl he still loved. It remained a painful sight even when their bodies were not touching anymore, when the guy smiled and turned around to leave. And when that girl, with her eyes as beautiful as always, looked at Dean, just to stab the digger a bit deeper in his heart. This was tough, but he knew he deserved it.

They maintained an eye contact. Renee walked his way, and then she stopped next to him. To judge? To laugh at his misery? No. She wasn't that cruel. "Can we talk?"

That was what Dean wanted. An agonizing process that he wanted to suffer for. Fearlessly, he nodded.

"I'll go . . ." Seth indicated to them that he would not stand in the way of their private conversation. But it was difficult for him; there were things he did not understand, he had plenty of questions on his mind that were just waiting to be asked. It terrified him how it was even possible for two people to end their relationship so suddenly. Did he miss some signs that something was going wrong? Dean was going to propose, his brain reminded him a fact that explained nothing but undercut the possibility of their relationship leading to a certain end. Those unanswered questions had to wait, though. Now he was forced to move somewhere else to grant those two time alone.

They have been watching each other, waiting for one to start.

Then Dean's patience failed. "Go ahead." The tone of his voice was not as friendly as it used to be. He was still dealing with the scene he was a witness of a few minutes ago.

Neither Renee appeared happy about this discussion, about the presence of the guy who used to mean so much to her. But she had to get this over with. "We'll . . ." She helped her confidence with conscious breathing. Breaks. Looking away. It hurt her as much as him. "We'll have to change some details in that interview, so maybe we could do it later today? If that's okay with you."

"Wait, what?" This wasn't the kind of conversation he anticipated. "That's it?"

"Yes," she replied, a little hesitantly.

"You came to me to talk about _work_?" He raised his voice.

"Yes." This time she sounded more confident. She even smiled. "What did you think I wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know. _Us_, maybe?"

She shook her head. "Us? There's no us, Dean." The pain was visible in her eyes as much as on her damaged face. "You made that clear."

"What happened?" he asked, disillusioned.

"Let's not talk about it, okay? We're done, that's the bottom line."

"No, I mean what happened to you? Last week we were able to talk as friends. Now you despise me, and clearly so much that you kiss some guy right in front of me. You're dating him now, or what?"

"No. And even if I were dating him, would that be a problem?" She took offensive stance. He was hesitant to answer, so Renee continued, "I can do whatever I want."

"Are you doing that just to hurt me?"

She said nothing to that accusation. She knew her reasons, but she owed the man standing in front her nothing.

"I thought we could stay friends. I guess I was wrong."

"You know what I thought? What I believed?" The answer was redundant. Of course they both knew. Staying friends? No, that was a plan B.

"So, from now on we're just . . .?"

"Coworkers," she added.

He saw her hostile look, but he couldn't do anything to make it disappear. It left only when she did. And Dean was left alone. Not even Seth returned because he decided to follow Renee instead.

"How long are you hiding that you broke up?" he asked, as she continued walking away from the room Dean was still occupying.

"Does it look like we're hiding it?" Renee remained in the offensive mode she was using before. However unnecessary, it was difficult to get rid of it.

"What happened?" Seth asked, but got not answer. "You don't want to talk about it, do you?"

"No."

Seth stopped walking. She continued, but he was taken away but the casualness of the surroundings. People around who probably knew nothing. He wanted to know what happened between Dean and Renee, but neither he nor she would give him the explanation he required for peace of mind. Clearly, those two didn't even care enough to break the news to him. But there had to be somebody who knew.

"Roman," Seth called as he spotted him.

"Hey! Have you signed the card for Sheamus yet?"

"Yep," he said, and decided to go straight to the point. "What do you know about what's going on with Renee and Dean?"

Before answering, Roman checked whether there was anyone listening, and only when he had assurance their conversation would go unnoticed, he said, "They're not together anymore."

Reaction on Seth's face convinced Roman that his friend already knew about it, and therefore encouraged him to open the topic with him.

"Since when?"

"This year, pretty much."

"What happened?"

Before revealing too much, Roman wanted to know, "How much do you know?"

"Just that they broke up, and a few minutes ago Renee kissed other guy."

"What? That's knew."

"Hey, hear this. In front of Dean," he added slowly, creating tension.

"Wow."

"What do _you_ know?" Seth asked for enlargement of his knowledge.

"That two things must have happened. One thing that broke them up. And the other that changed their attitude toward each other."

"What do you mean?"

"At the beginning of January I thought they would have gotten back together. They were acting really nice to each other, they _talked_. Now they have love-hate relationship, but let me tell you that it's getting worse. And now that you said Renee provoked Dean with that kiss . . . the shit's going down."

"So what changed it?"

"I have no idea. Just as I don't know why they broke up. When I think they were going to get married. . . ." Roman spoke quietly at the end, just in case. He kept shaking his head. "At least they can stand each other."

Although Seth was still in the process of absorbing the new information, his hardworking brain enabled him to already think ahead. Unfortunately, future did not look bright. "What if that changes too? What if a week from now they won't be able to look at each other? To cooperate . . . accept that they are coworkers?"

"Luckily for you, you won't have to be the one to sort it out."

"What if one of them decides to leave the company?"

Roman shrugged his shoulders. "They were going into it knowing that possibility existed."

That hardly satisfied Seth. He needed assurance that it won't happen. But how could he get it when he didn't even know what happened between two people that appeared so happy a few weeks ago?

Seth knew this wasn't _his_ problem. But they were his friends. How could he accept that his friends hated each other?

He returned to wanting to talk to Renee. He could still see her, although busy.

Next minute he was standing beside her, annoying her, keeping her from doing her job. Seth started with a sigh. "What did he do?" After a pause he has given her for responding, he went on, "He fucked up before, he had do something worse now."

"What?" She finally started paying attention to him.

"What made you break up with him?"

"I didn't break up with him. He broke up with me."

That information left Seth speechless for a minute. His confusion enabled Renee to return to her work. She needed to talk to some people, but that was not possible as long as she was having this discussion with Seth.

"Why would he . . .?"

Renee turned to him, and, with a smile on her face, she asked, "Surprised? Shocked?" Now she was just asking sarcastically.

"But he . . ." Seth couldn't forget about that engagement that was supposed to take place. This was hard to understand. Impossible. But he understood one thing. "So that's why you're mad at him."

"I'm not mad at him."

"Well, I am."

Renee chuckled. She sat down, surrendering to the conversation she initially did not want to have. Now she realized it did not matter. People would find out one day, that was certain. And of course they want answers.

"It's only January but this year already sucks," she reflected. "If only I could see it coming. It came as such a shock that I couldn't even comprehend what was happening. One minute he was saying he loved me, the other he was saying it's over. And then I kept believing that he would take it back, that he would regret his decision and realize we belong together. . . . But I guess I was wrong. Still, I couldn't help it." She turned to Seth with a question, "How do you stop loving someone?" Neither he had an answer. "Of course I loved him the next morning. I still do. But I'm not trying to get him back."

"You want him back?"

"Not anymore."

"But you did," he assumed.

"Of course. And at first I thought it would happen. But he didn't seem to be interested in getting back together, and then I lost my interest too."

"But you need to work it out."

"Work out what exactly?" she asked.

"You know, your relationship. The reason why you broke up."

That led to Renee's smile. A peaceful one.

"Why did you break up?"

"Ask Dean," she said. Then she added, "And when he tells you, _if_ he tells you," she corrected herself, "could you let me know?"

Now he would understand the hate, the one she claimed to be nonexistent. "He didn't say why he's breaking up with you?"

Her sigh was the answer.

"He ended it without any explanation. . . ." Seth was losing temper. That behavior was absolutely inexcusable. What was Dean's idea? And how after his inconsiderate actions could he even expect her to be smiling when she was next to him. Remembering how he hurt her . . . and didn't say why.

He got mad and stormed out of the room. Some people watched for a few seconds, but then let go. Seth walked into the room where he saw Dean most recently. Somehow expecting him to still be there. Well, he already left. The room was empty, and he wasn't in the hallway either. Having little options and even less logical thinking engaged, he came back to where Renee and Roman were. Seth approached Roman. "Where is Dean?"

Sarcastic answer was called for. "Well, as you can see, not here." If Seth were calmer, Roman would simply say he had no idea. This way, though, he said, "You were the last one who saw him. Why should _I_ know where he is?"

Seth turned to wider public with his question. "Somebody seen Ambrose?"

"Lockers," somebody called.

Seth immediately followed that direction. And surely he found him there. He was the only one in the room, and that was something Seth welcomed. He was angry, and he knew that what he was about to do would appear arrogant, but he did it anyway. He "attacked" him, or more like invaded his personal space.

"Hey," Dean shouted.

Seth's hands remained on Dean's body. He took the job of a security guard at the airport who would search a person's body until he finds something.

"What are you doing?" Dean kept shouting at him, but failed to interfere with Seth's inspection. "Hands off me."

Finally Seth found what he had been looking for. "What is this?" he asked, holding the small black box containing the ring Dean had been so carefully protecting. "A joke?"

"No," Dean said, and grabbed the box.

"Have you ever even been seriously considering proposing to her?"

"Yes. Of course I have."

"Then tell me this. How can you be planning to propose to Renee and end up breaking up with her instead?"

Dean shouted, instinctively, "I don't know!"

"You're an idiot. Asshole! You better have a good reason for that break-up."

"Maybe I don't have one."

Seth calmed himself down a bit. "Look, you don't need to tell me, but she deserves to know the truth. However bitter it is. "You don't want to be with her? You've cheated on her? You don't think your marriage would work? Just tell her the goddamn reason."

"Why do you act like I had to have done something wrong? What about her?"

"You're seriously gonna make me think she screwed up?"

"I just hate how you immediately jump to conclusions."

Seth decided to end it with, "I don't care who did what, just man up and end it properly." Then he left the room.

That was not the end of the hearing for Seth. Although lacking any relevant new information, he returned to Renee.

Now she welcomed his desire to talk to her about things she'd like to conclude. "So?" she asked with hope in her eyes.

"Nothing."

She looked disappointed. Deep inside she hoped she would finally learn the reason, Dean's point of view on it.

"You really have no idea what could have gone wrong?"

"No. Well, I don't know. It seemed great. Everything was almost perfect as late as . . ."

"When?"

"New Year's Day. Few minutes before we broke up, really. . . . I was wondering if he had any reason at all. If it wasn't just an instinct, you know? But I refuse to believe that. Then I thought that maybe it was me." Seth chose not to tell her that this was the information he got from Dean, that there was a chance Renee or something about her made Dean end the relationship.

"Like what? You've done something?"

"I have no idea. I mean, I don't remember that I did something that would get him mad in any way. But I'm not perfect. There are many things about me that I know Dean doesn't fancy, I hate things about me as well. It might have been gradual. Like it's been with him the whole time, some aversion, and it's been building up, he just did not let it show. That's why it came out of the blue for me. Maybe he knew it would happen. Maybe he's been thinking about it for months."

"No," Seth refused, and he knew why. Planning to get married and planning to break up with the same person don't go together.

"Well, I've no better explanation."

"Have you asked him?"

"Yes. That day I asked. More than once. But I got no answer."

"Have you asked him afterwards?"

"No," she said.

"I know he won't tell me. But maybe if you asked," he said with hope in his voice.

"I was thinking about it. I came to a conclusion that maybe I don't want to know."

"Why?" He could not understand.

"I'm afraid of it," she admitted. "I spent one night wide awake thinking about possible reasons. I didn't ask for them, but my brain kept coming up with them. And they ranged from really psycho ones like Dean wanted to protect me because he knew something that could get him killed to more realistic ones like, I don't know, he stopped loving me."

"Please," Seth interrupted with a sarcastic note.

"Seriously. You know that a person can be in love for a year, at best?"

"You don't believe that, do you?"

She answered, "Well, it's a scientific fact. Anyhow, Dean might have lost interest in me."

"Even if so, that's not a reason for breaking up with somebody. You know how the marriage rate would decline if people decided for a divorce simply because they _lost interest_ in their spouse?"

"What I'm saying, Seth, is that maybe . . . he . . ." Words were getting stuck in her throat.

But although she was getting to the point slowly, and with little hints, Seth got it. "He found somebody else?"

"It's an option," Renee said.

"And you believe it?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Probably not. It's definitely not the one that haunts me."

"So which terrifies you the most?"

"That he did it because he felt like it."

Seth chuckled, despite Renee's seriousness. "You believed his _unstable_ gimmick?"

She did not reply directly. Instead, she decided to conclude the conversation that would get them nowhere anyway with a sentence she has been telling herself for some time now. "Whatever the reason, sometimes it's better not to know."

"Really?" He had to question her attitude. If he were the one to choose, Seth would want to know.

"Look, one week ago, sure, I'd welcome to finally hear the reason behind the break-up. Back then, I'd even want him back."

That led Seth to somewhat change the topic. "What changed your mind?"

"Something I don't wanna talk about."

"It's not that he still hasn't told you why he ended it, is it?"

"No."

"And it's not because he showed no intentions in getting back together either," he guessed.

"No."

"So?"

She stayed strong. "I said I wouldn't talk about it."

Now he was curious. Now he _needed_ to know. But she was on her way to leave.

"Come on," he shouted before she retreated to safety from his annoying questions.

What was she afraid of? He wouldn't tell anyone. So he ran after her. He caught her before she could enter the women's locker room. Yet she entered anyway. He followed her inside. Fortunately, he saw nothing inappropriate, but still, some female wrestlers decided to leave as soon as a male odor infected their habitat.

Alone, they could talk. "If Dean's not the reason, then why are you enemies now?"

"We're not enemies," she opposed, and continued going through her stuff. She held her bag, with her back turned to Seth, but she couldn't ignore him.

"Is it a secret?" he asked.

She finally found what she's been looking for. Ibuprofen. Before continuing, or making a decision whether to continue with the discussion she had little interest in, she put the pill in her mouth and looked for a bottle of water.

In the meantime, somebody entered the room, distracted Seth, and almost stole his opportunity to learn more. Fortunately, she turned around and left, leaving the two once again alone.

"Whatever you say, it won't leave these walls."

"I won't say anything."

"Please," he begged.

"What do you need it for? You want to know, yet you claim you won't use that information. What will you do with it then?"

"Nothing, I swear. I'm just curious," he tried his best to make her speak.

"Seth . . ." She turned to him with her attention, "It has nothing to do with you." Her voice was friendly, although sad.

Maybe he should've realized she was doing him a favor when she refused to reveal the secret to him. It did not concern him, and she'd be happier if it did not concern her either.

He was gonna say something, ask more, but in the end, he stayed quiet. In fact, he turned around, deciding to give her privacy. Leave her alone. But as he was standing by the door, he looked back at her, her worrisome face, teary eyes, and he knew he'd stay.

"Something troubles you," he guessed. No, he was certain. She remained quiet. "I wish I could read it from your mind, but you'll have to tell me." When he failed to bring her reaction, he said, "Or should I bring someone who knows you more than I do?"

She assuredly shook her head no.

"Does it have something to do with him?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Maybe was the word she had on her tongue but did not pronounce.

He was getting closer to her, being her friend. "Will you tell me?" Once standing before her, he made her look at him.

"You know that you can trust me. Like last year when you told me about your feelings for Dean."

"I did not tell you. You found out," she reminded him.

"Yeah." He laughed. "But I never told him. I kept that secret. And in the end it was fun, wasn't it?"

"This is different," she said.

He stroked her arm to show her she really could confide in him. He did all he could to encourage her to speak. But she was still hesitant.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

She looked up and tried to find out from the look in his eyes whether she could trust him. "You swear?" She was scared, not only afraid that Seth would tell. There was an issue of how he would react. Would he judge?

"Pinky swear," Seth said, and raised his little finger.

Now Renee finally revealed her secret. "I had a miscarriage." She let that sink in. But she knew she had to continue before she'd lose confidence. "When Dean broke up with me, I was pregnant. I didn't know," she quickly added. "Only when I miscarried I realized it. And then . . ." She paused.

Seth's been alternatively watching her and watching the floor. Or the walls. Basically anything that would let him escape those sad eyes belonging to Renee.

"Then I couldn't look at Dean the same way."

Seth nodded like he understood. In fact, he was far from having understood what she's been telling him. He needed time to absorb all the information and start thinking about it. Make connections and conclusions. Use logic. Now it was just confusion and a refusal of his brain to cooperate. There were little thinking processes going on and he had almost no questions that he wanted to ask.

"Before, I wanted us to be together again, then, the circumstances changed. Everything was different. And I had to cope with it first." She sat down, reflecting, although she didn't want to.

Seth didn't know what to say. Well, there was one thing, only one thing, he knew he could, and should, say. "I'm sorry."

"It's not a big deal," she said, trying to make herself believe her own lie. "It's not like I knew I was pregnant. I wasn't _excited_ about having a baby."

"Are you okay?" asked Seth, now taking a seat next to her, trying to hug her but it was difficult with her rejecting him.

"Of course. It'd be illogical for me to be emotional about it."

He took a good look at her. At her fighting with what was logical and what was real. "You know, you can be sad about it."

"No," she refused.

"You have right to feel that way." He caressed her hair. "It's okay if you cry."

She violently shook her head.

"I'm here for you."

"No. No!" she cried. She stood up, turning down Seth's comfort. "I'm fine. Even if I knew, it's not like I could have done something about it. It's no one's fault and it can't be prevented," she said the learned phrase that she's been telling herself for almost a week. Her eyes beginning to tear up, body starting to shake. Seth stood up and didn't care that she had refused him before. He put his arms around her again, soothing her. "It's no one's fault and it can't be prevented," she repeated, now crying.

He asked, he wanted to know. Now he had to deal with the consequences. For her as much as for himself. He brought about the feeling of discomfort, confusion, need to disappear. But even if he got the chance, he wouldn't leave. In this moment of weakness, she needed him. Someone to hold her, make her feel safe and warm. Someone to kiss her on the top of her head. And he could stand there embracing her forever. But she managed to pull herself together, fight away the incoming tears, and look into his eyes. She found an ally in him. Confidant who would hear her out but wouldn't judge. "Fucked up January. Makes me already hate this year," she said. She felt a bit better, one could see that. His presence helped a lot.

He could see her attempt to escape the topic that caused her pain, unfortunately, Seth intended to stay at it for a moment longer. "I think I'm right, but, please, tell me. He doesn't know, does he?"

She shook her head. "No."

"And . . .?"

"I don't plan to tell him."

"Ever?"

Her answer was a clear no even without actually pronouncing that syllable.

"But . . . Don't you think he deserves to know? It's his baby –"

She stopped him immediately. "What baby? I don't see a single reason why he should know." It was hard to argue with her. But from his male perspective, he knew he'd want to know. And he was sure that Dean would probably feel the same way. "If we were together, it'd be different. But now . . . I was thinking about telling him, but then I tried to imagine what would be going on his mind." Before saying more, she asked Seth, "How would _you_ feel? What would you do or say?"

That was hard to imagine for he never experienced that situation. However, he gave it a shot. "I would . . . be sad, _grieve_, probably. I don't know whether I'd let it show or now. But I'd want to know that there ever was a possibility that I'd become a father. More important, though, is that I, well, Dean, can be there for you. You don't have to go through it alone."

"Seth, I understand that. But what I see . . . is causing him pain. _Unnecessary_ pain. If I can spare him that, then I will. I still love him. I don't want him to suffer. Sure, maybe he wouldn't, but then again, maybe he'd think I'm suffering."

"Aren't you?" Seth asked, carefully.

"No. I don't want him to comfort me. I myself hate that I cried over something so irrational."

"It's not irrational."

"It is when there's no way of taking it back, and when you never knew about it in the first place." She tried to make him understand, to share her point of view. "Seth, if I could choose to not know about it at all, I'd prefer that. That's why I don't want to tell Dean. It's not because I don't want to include him in this, that I don't think he'd _deserve_ to know."

"I know," he whispered because his voice let him down.

"Besides, we're not together anymore. Even if I told him, we wouldn't be sharing the pain, we'd have to deal with it separately. As I do now."

"It's your choice." Still, he thought Dean should now. But he couldn't argue with Renee or her reasoning.

"You won't tell him, will you?" she asked, somewhat worried that he might. She could see that Seth disagreed with her opinion on this.

"Of course not. I swore."

She nodded. She had to admit that telling him made her feel relieved. "You can go now," she told him, setting him free. "Now you know the truth. Happy?"

"No. I'm glad you told me, but I'm certainly not happy. I hate to see you miserable. I can't believe what you had to go through in just two weeks. First Dean, then this. It's too much for one person to deal with alone."

"Seth, I'm not telling him."

"I know. I just . . ." Not even he knew what he actually wanted to say. He just knew it was unfair. How Dean ditched her for no apparent reason. How as soon as one painful moment left another arrived.

"I'm doing fine," she assured him. "Even without Dean."

"Are you with that Greg guy now?" he asked, not blaming her at all. Just being curious.

"I don't know. It's nothing serious, you know." She was being honest to herself. "To be fair, he's nothing more than a rebound guy."

Seth couldn't hide surprise over her honesty. He showed no disgust over her possible getting into another relationship so shortly after the previous one ended. What mattered was her happiness. The means by which she would achieve it were secondary.

"I know that kiss in Dean's presence was too much."

"Well, he didn't hurt anybody. He needs to learn to handle illogical jealousy."

"One day he'll find someone too."

"And you'll be okay with it?" Seth asked because she said it so casually.

"No."

He smiled and she did too.

"Go now. I'm sure you have more important things to do than hanging out in the women's locker room."

He nodded. He was at work after all. Still, his next steps led to the men's lockers where he hoped to find Dean. Fortunately, Dean was still in there. Alone. Sitting on the bench with his back turned toward the door. Seth couldn't see what he was doing nor he cared much.

Hearing the door opening, he glimpsed at the person disrupting his private session. Even from such distance Seth was able to hear the sigh when Dean realized who entered. But not even now did Dean let go of his previous activity. He kept sitting there, looking at something he had placed on top of his thighs.

"I want you to tell me the reason why you broke up with her," Seth insisted, as he walked closer to him.

"Urgh." Dean stood up and put the teddy bear that he has been grasping in his hands down. "You won't leave it, will you?" Deciding that he didn't want the toy to become a center of attention, he put it inside his backpack.

"Tell me the truth and I'll leave you alone."

"Seth, don't you see this has nothing to do with you?"

"You're right. But don't say it has nothing to do with Renee. Because I know she asked you. Why is it so difficult for you to be honest with her?"

Dean sensed that saying anything would only assure Seth that this conversation could go on. That was not what Dean wanted, so he stayed quiet.

Seth decided for a change of strategy. "She thinks it's her fault."

"Why would she think that?" Dean failed to stay out of the talk.

"Because you gave her no explanation. And then you jumped at me when I blamed you."

Dean shouted, "You told her I said _she _was the reason?" That made him angry. How dared he?

Seth remained calm. He breathed in and looked around. Then, giving fake impression that he came to that opinion only now, he said, "We all know she did nothing to justify your dumping her."

"Cool. Can you leave now?"

"I'm not leaving until I hear it."

Then there was an option that Dean would leave instead. But he stayed for some reason. "If I decide I want the reason to be known, I'll tell Renee, definitely not you."

"So go and tell her."

Dean laughed for effect. "You don't get it."

"Mhmm." Seth was nodding and smiling with that sarcastic grin. "Renee believes you had no reason. You did it just because . . . I don't know, you felt like it in the moment. No, like that idea popped into your head and you asked yourself, hell, why not?"

Dean was shaking his head, despising the person standing in front of him. Having need to hurt him for being so thoughtless.

"But I don't believe that. Things happen for a reason. And now I don't mean some higher force that makes it happen," he added to avoid being misunderstood. "You gotta have a reason for doing so important as breaking up with person you love. Now, what's that reason?" he asked, already knowing he would get no answer from Dean.

However, before Seth could go on, Dean interrupted him. "You found out a moment ago that Renee and I broke up and you have already come up with this scheme?"

"Well, I talked to you, I talked to her. It's not that difficult to figure it out."

Now Dean got interested. So what reason did he have?

"You feel guilty. You did something bad."

Dean let him speak. Even if he did not share Seth's notion of guilt, he chose not to interrupt and let Seth have his analysis come to a failed ending.

"Maybe you've cheated on her."

"Please," Dean sarcastically exclaimed, and laughed.

"No? Maybe you've just lied. Or you really do have interest in sleeping with other women and you just realized tying the knot will take that option away."

"Oh, yeah, I have a whole harem in the basement waiting for me to be single again. That's gotta be it." He sighed. Pretending to be in good mood was failing him. "Now that you've solved the case, could you leave?" Whether Seth was still there or on his way out became unimportant to him. Even with a witness, he grabbed the bear again. Embracing him, getting high on the smell. Perfume that she sprayed it with. . . . It still smelled like her. That wonderful, hypnotizing smell that he knew sooner or later would block his nose, and it'd result in the lowering amount of air getting into his lungs and a nauseated feeling. He knew what would ultimately happen, yet he couldn't let go.

As earlier with Renee, Seth remained in the room. He saw a broken person. There were many similarities between them, and Seth was beginning to see a victim in Dean, too. Alright, so he was the one who caused the misery, but maybe he had a good reason, he just didn't want anyone to know. There was a chance he was in this innocently. Seth couldn't know.

Then Roman entered the room. He quickly noticed the object in Dean's hands. "Oh my god!" he exclaimed. "Again?" He ran toward him and took the inanimate animal from him. "I see you with it one more time and I'm burning it," he warned Dean, who was trying hard to get it back. Roman was too powerful and too determined for Dean to even have a chance to succeed.

"I want it," cried Dean.

Roman wouldn't return it to him. Moreover, he looked into Dean's backpack where he found other delinquent objects. The postcard. Her lipstick. "Don't tell me this is yours," Roman said jokingly. Dean kept reaching for things that Roman was taking away from him. He couldn't win this fight.

"What is it?" Seth, who now left the distant area to get a closer look, asked.

"You mean _this_?" Roman asked. He held that card Dean got from his then-girlfriend in his hand, waving with it in front of Seth's face.

Seth read it. "A real boyfriend: calls you for nothing, texts you all the time, wants to see you, cries, gets jealous, is overprotective and loves you."

Seth immediately looked at Dean, whose hand was once again unsuccessfully reaching for the card. In Seth's look there was both sympathy and disgust. Disgust over somebody who reads those words and is able to break the girl's heart right afterwards. "How could you let her down like that?" But it was hard to be mad at someone who was heartbroken too. Dean's watery eyes and the frown made him look like a victim. And then there was the scene that happened before his very eyes not that long ago. How that person he loved was kissing another guy. Tearing his heart to pieces. And instead of doing something to cheer himself up, Dean crawled inside his cave where he chose to cling on to things that were making him suffer even more. Memories. Thoughts that were tearing him apart from inside. Objects, presents he got but did not deserve. Guilt because he disappointed the one person he cared about most.

Now everything was being taken away from him. The girl as well as the memories of the relationship. But as far as Roman was concerned, it did not suffice. "Give me the ring."

"No!" Dean shouted.

At that moment Seth did not know whose side to take. He stayed away from the conflict, watching it only. Feeling bad for Dean as well as Roman. He understood why Roman wanted it.

"Stop hurting yourself," Roman said to Dean.

And Seth saw how desperate everyone was. How 2015 was not a good year for Dean either. And how unlike for Renee, for Dean it still _could_ get worse. That's why it was beginning to make sense that Renee decided to keep the secret to herself. Dean already looked he would welcome a cliff to jump off. With a realization of what his loved one was going through, what she had to undergo, and with the spontaneous yet logical idea that it was him who caused the suffering, it would become risky to leave him alone.

"Give him the ring," Seth finally said.

Dean kept shaking his head, doing what he could to protect it from the thieves. In the end, though, he failed.

Roman felt bad for him, but didn't regret the decision. "I'm sorry. It's for your own good."

"Give me the bear," he beseeched, holding back the tears. The teddy bear was what he longed for the most. The feeling of its soft fur had a calming effect on him. So what that it smelled like her? So what that it would make him sick? It would bring tears to his eyes . . . he knew all that but none of that mattered to him. He just wanted to have it and hold it close.

"Dean," Roman spoke to him, feeling terrible to be declining his only request, but he hated to see him suffer. And that perfumed toy would make him miserable in the end. Roman hoped Dean would realize this on his own, or listen to him. "Weren't you the one who ended it?" Dean pretended not to hear him. "You have to accept the reality. You're not together. Unless you want to do something about it, it's pointless to keep the things that belong to the past," Roman told him. "Please, I'm telling you this as a friend. Stop torturing yourself."

He had to live with the reality that he wouldn't get that teddy bear he wished to have. And so was gone the card and the engagement ring. Dean started worrying that Roman would invite himself into his house where he would take the rest. Nothing would be left.

As Dean turned his attention to the wall in front of him, refusing to look into the eyes of the traitors, he heard Seth's voice. "Was it worth it?"

He had the answer. No, it wasn't. But he had no choice.

"I miss her," he admitted.

"Of course you do. You still love her. Those feelings don't disappear overnight."

"She hates me now."

"No," said Seth. "She loves you too."

Dean lifted his head and looked at him. "She does?"

Rather Seth did not continue. Yes, it was true that she loved him despite breaking up with her, but he wanted to cause no confusion. It wasn't the same kind of love. And it didn't mean that even if Dean regretted his decision and got down on his knees to ask for forgiveness she would take him back. Dean had to live with the consequences. In the post-breakup world they were not friends, barely acquaintances. But maybe that was something he could work on. "Give her some time. You both need to spend time apart. Then you can at least try to become friends again."

Dean nodded. "What if friends is not good enough?"

"Dean, this discussion would be easier if you revealed why you broke up with her. Is it something the two of you can work out? Or is it permanent? You both love each other; it would be stupid to throw everything away just because of some silliness that made you end it." Sensing Dean's opposition, he added, "I know, I know nothing about your reasons. I'm just saying that . . ."

Roman couldn't find the right words so Seth helped him out. "For us it makes no sense. One day you're together, _happy_, the next one you're apart, crying somewhere in the corner. If you told us, there's higher chance we would understand, maybe even we would be able to help you figure it all out."

"You know you have our full support," Roman assured him.

However, on that point Seth disagreed. He shook his head even though Dean was not watching him. "No. As long as I don't know why you did it, it's nothing but an irresponsible, thoughtless, _childish_ action. Running away from the problem. Or creating a problem where there's none."

"Seth," Roman snapped.

"I'm sorry if you don't agree with my belief to be honest even with the person you have no business with anymore. Renee's my friend. And yours as well," he said to Roman. Then he looked at Dean, "You claim to love her yet you let her suffer. I know it won't change a lot when you explain to her why you did what you did, but let her at least have that closure." Then he realized the hypocrisy of it. How he pushed Dean into being honest with her, yet he only defenselessly stood by and accepted Renee's decision to keep her secret. That relationship cannot end like this. With things being unspoken. If they want to say goodbye, they should do it properly. Both of them. Put their cards on the table.


	5. Chapter 5

She checked the time as soon as the bell rang. He was late. Twenty-five minutes late, to be precise. The busy, angry mode was already on. Since he took his time, she did too as she walked toward the door. The bell rang again. In the hallway, she checked herself out in the mirror. Then she ran her hand through her hair and tried what a smile would look like.

"Renee," he called from behind the door. Not even now she increased the pace. She looked at the door. Knowing what was going to happen, she took a deep breath to give herself courage. They haven't been alone for a while. Not like this. Not in her apartment where she knew there would be no one interrupting them. . . . Such a pity.

She kept reminding herself that she can do this. However, doubts remained.

Finally she reached for the door.

Her eyes noticed the shoes first. Only then she started looking up. On the other hand, he's been watching her the whole time. And direct look was what he demanded from her, too. No escaping.

"Can I come in?"

She moved aside so that he could enter. He walked confidently, as if he was at home. Well, he wasn't. Not anymore. She noticed he's been looking around . . . to see changes? Everything looked the same. To be fair, there was a change. His stuff wasn't laying around anymore.

When she closed the door, he was already in the kitchen. Drinking her coffee.

"It's in the bedroom," she said. She let him finish the drink. She felt no need to argue with him on any matter, and definitely not about his lack of manners.

They moved to the bedroom. The box was indeed there. Waiting next to the bed. Full of his stuff.

Her idea was that he takes it and leaves. That was a wishful thinking, she now realized. Of course it wouldn't be that simple.

He picked it up, but placed it on the bed. Exactly where she didn't want to have it. It was heavy and dirty. However, he didn't seem to care about her clean bedding. He even took some things out, like a framed photograph or an old T-shirt. For minutes, he just watched it without any particular reason.

She sighed when she realized he was intentionally wasting her time.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked when he turned around to face her.

"I don't know. I don't care."

"Don't you want it?"

"Dean." She chuckled out of pure despair. "All I wanted to keep I have on the bottom shelf of the closet." Immediately he went to check it. Meanwhile, she continued, "All that was mine and I didn't want I've thrown away. Everything in this box," she said, sitting down next to it and placing her arm on top of it, randomly grabbing one of the pictures, "is what's yours. Or things I thought you could want."

"There's nothing," Dean said, slightly changing the topic. He managed to open the closet and look at the bottom shelf. It was empty.

"Yeah."

He looked at her, alarmed, irritated. "You kept nothing?" That got him mad. "Is that how much I meant to you?"

"No."

"We've been together for . . ." He paused when he realized he hasn't counted it actually, and he was never a fan of anniversaries. "Well, I thought you would have kept something that would remind you of our relationship."

She took the blame.

"Can't believe this. You hate me so much that you just decided to erase me from your life?"

"It's a different closet." Finally she revealed the truth. For one thing, she certainly did not hurry with correcting him.

"Oh." Now he felt awkward. "Sorry," he apologized, too quietly for her to hear it clearly.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she put back inside the box the things he took out earlier. Then she stood up, lifted the heavy box, and turned to him. "Take this," she said, handing it to him. "And leave."

He did take it, but he stayed. This time, he placed the box where she originally put it, next to the bed.

"You really don't want me here, do you?"

"No." She decided to be honest. Besides, she did not feel like pretending at all. That would take too much effort, and she has already used a lot of that at work. Keeping professional relationship with your ex was difficult, really exhausting. Maybe it would get better with time, she thought, but they haven't reached that point yet. Now it was just antipathy.

"If I said why –"

She did not let him finish. "I don't give a damn about your reasons. You broke up with me, and I took it without your explanation. Honestly, I'm not even curious anymore."

"If I said," he tried again, but didn't get any further this time either.

"Then I'd know the reason, but still we wouldn't be together. What's the difference, really?"

It was strange that sight of a normally happy person being so apathetic. She meant her words. No, she really did not care. In her eyes remained only the fact that he screwed up. Or maybe not exactly screwed up. Whatever the definition or the amount of his guilt in the action, he did leave her. She couldn't simply forget that.

"You said we would still keep professional relationship. . . ."

"Don't we? Don't I smile every time I interview you?"

"Yeah, but . . . now . . ."

"Now we're not at work. I don't have to fake good mood when I see you."

It was his fault, and he knew it. He just . . . he wished she felt more relaxed around him. It would be stupid to expect their friendship to return, but there had to be some middle ground. . . . How he wanted the hostility to subside.

"That's all," she reminded him. "You can go now."

As he was lifting the box, considering making her wish come true, he changed his mind and put it down again. He walked those few steps that separated him from her. She did not move, but it would be stupid to mistake her lack of opposition for agreement and forgiveness.

She breathed in and out, slowly, repeatedly, she looked away and then back at him a minute later. "Okay. Let's say I am curious. Why?" She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know; maybe it was nothing more than a test.

And she got him. The silence assured her he never meant to reveal the reason.

"You know, I would like to know. I would like you to give me a legitimate reason to hate you. Because sometimes . . . I really wish I had something to hate you for." The thorough look, judgment maybe, indicated her what was going through his mind. "I know what you're thinking. No, I don't hate you. But don't think I'm okay with what you've done." He sat down next to her, but gave her space. "Everything was going fine," she reflected, and he could be sure there would be judging. "Either you're so good at hiding your emotions or there was really nothing leading to it." It wasn't clear whether she was done talking or not, but suddenly she stood up. No eye contact, no acknowledging of his on-going presence in her bedroom whatsoever. She left the room. In the kitchen, where she found herself a minute later, she grabbed the finished cup that previously contained coffee, ran it under water, and put it in the dishwasher. There weren't many dishes, she was in the city for a short period of time anyway, and she was living alone. Those factors also played role in the emptiness of her fridge. There was no reason to keep it stocked. She noticed how sad it looked when she opened it to put milk inside. As though she was alone, she decided to clean the table and make her whole kitchen look tidier. Not that it looked messy. The reason behind this was mainly that it helped keep her mind off the person in the next room.

But he came. It might have been three minutes later when he entered the kitchen, holding her phone in his hand. "Some nick2501 is texting you," he told her while still staring at the phone. He tried not to look judgmental . . . or jealous. Well, maybe he should have tried harder if that was supposed to look convincing. Besides, there came a question . . . he just had to ask, "Who is it?"

"I don't know," she said. She made no big deal of his breaking her privacy. Instead of focusing on what he was doing with her phone, she remained paying more attention to how her kitchen looked. Now she was wiping the surfaces.

"You don't know. . . ." Dean was failing at keeping his cool. Only his pocket prevented his left hand from revealing nervousness and eagerness to find all the available information about the guy. "I liked the picture you sent me last night," Dean read the message that the stranger sent to his ex-girlfriend.

Renee smiled. Although Dean couldn't see her facial expression as she was turned away from him, he did hear a soft giggle. Renee knew what Dean was thinking . . . and she decided to let him believe it was true. A little teasing was alright, according to her.

After little consideration, she even told Dean, "Could you send him a smiley?" Provoking him felt so good. "Oh, and add _anytime_," she said flirtingly.

The anger was reaching a breaking point. Dean was typing an answer, but it wouldn't be what Renee asked him to write. Dean got all protective, and it became a personal duty, a responsibility for him to make sure that pervert – or at least that's how Dean imagined him, some guy masturbating to a picture of a pretty girl he has never seen in person – would never contact Renee again.

And while he was on it, doing his job of a guardian, he went through her private conversations. Soon enough he noticed one message that caught his attention. There existed a reason why it mattered to him more than the others. "Dinner tonight?" Dean read the text. This time he knew the person who sent that message to her. "Greg," Dean said with despise. Then he angrily – and at the same time mocking her – looked at Renee. "So that's a thing?"

"Why not?"

"You can't be serious. That relationship is clearly a joke. You don't like him."

She knew exactly to what to say to shut his mouth. "You can sleep with people you have no interest in," she said, just for the sake of it. "You should know."

It didn't have quite the anticipated effect. He was still mad, of course, but he was hardly mad at her. This all he took as his due. Generally, he appeared calm when he approached her. Just as before, that invasion of her personal space did not scare her. She looked confident. Apathetic but knowing what she was doing. Aware of what she wanted and what she did not want.

Trying to maintain an eye contact to reinforce the power of his words, he said to her, "Don't do it just because you want to piss me off. I deserve being hurt, I know, but in the end, you'll be the one suffering."

Now she was starting to feel intimidated by him. If only she could step back, turn around, and open the window behind her without raising suspicion.

"I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry, but I don't want to see you hurting more. This thing that you're doing, going out with someone just because you think it'll take the pain away, is a mistake. Disillusion. You'll end up hurting him and yourself as well."

"So what? Why should you care?"

Dean smiled when he was supposed to answer something so obvious. "I love you."

Those words were causing her more pain than anything else. Shivers ran down her spine and tears were forcing themselves onto the surface. But she wouldn't cry or show any sign of weakness. "You're a liar," she said, hoping it would downplay the effect of Dean's previous sentence on her.

He took the blame. "I'm not saying I've never lied to you or that I haven't hidden things from you. But believe me, when I say I love you, it's true. I always meant those words." He saw the repulsion, disgust, so he continued, "I loved you even when I was breaking up with you. . . . It makes no sense to you," he named what he saw. "If you love someone, you don't break their heart, is that what you're thinking?"

Just as she started to believe that he would maybe tell her why he did what he did, he turned around and created a fake impression that he would leave. Fortunately – yes, she changed her mind – he stayed. For some reason, she wanted him to be with her for a minute longer. If he weren't the one who hurt her, she would share the pain with him. The situation sucked so much. Why couldn't she hug him? Kiss him? Why couldn't they be together? Then she said something that was never supposed to leave her mouth. "I love you too." Now she had to turn around . . . away from him. Her eyes closed; a deep sigh forced itself out. Hands covered the mouth. Fingers in the corners of her eyes could feel that her eyes were getting watery.

What she said was true, and she knew it. She couldn't simply get rid of the leftover feelings. For almost a year, she was in love with him. Conditions changed now, but her heart didn't care. As she told him earlier, the reason for her hating him did not exist. Yes, he broke up with her. Was that enough to hate him? For her heart, no. Brain kept persuading her he was an asshole who, moreover, hurt her just for fun, but she had no evidence.

He was standing behind her. His arms were not being allowed to wrap around her. To squeeze her so that he would get that nice feeling of her closeness. . . . How he missed it. If he tried to touch her now, she would probably freak out because in a way stranger was attacking her private zone.

"Can't we . . ." She was trying to ask something, she wasn't sure, but she knew she might regret finishing that sentence in the end. Maybe looking at him would shut her mouth, she thought, and turned around. "Can't we forget about the last few weeks?" She pronounced her wish after all. Giving him chance to take everything back. To forgive and forget. Return to the time before it all went down.

Yes, he almost screamed. His lips were sealed, though. Then he opened them, as if to make her wish come true, but said nothing. He just kept starting at her, making it so much worse. Keeping her tense until . . .

"Forget it," she said. The decision to return to previous hostility has been made.

Maybe it was better that way, he thought. Not getting a chance. Not that he deserved any. Not that he'd take it back. For some reason, he decided to say something. "I don't want you to think it was an impulse."

She didn't want to talk about it. Not anymore. She wanted to see him walk out that door and forget about his whole presence in her apartment. Maybe even about their common past.

"Maybe when I woke up that day, I didn't know it'd be the last day of us being a couple. To be fair," he admitted, "it was probably the last thing that crossed my mind. But I did what I had to do. It's best for both of us."

"Oh, please." She couldn't take it anymore. "Those are but excuses. Why are you so terrified of telling me the truth? Being honest for once?"

"I am being honest with you."

"All that time you kept talking about how mature you are. Would a grown-up person do this?"

"Renee . . ." He was on the defensive side again. Proving her that all the words about his being able to deal with adult things were nothing but lies.

"What is it? I see three options. Either you don't give a damn about me and deliberately don't tell me the reason just to hurt me. Or you care enough to not want to see me hurt, and, therefore, you rather skip the ugly part about your or my failure. Or you have nothing to say because the reason does not exist."

"The truth is, I really don't want to hurt you."

"Well, you already are," she said.

He couldn't leave it like that. What he was doing wasn't fair to her, he was aware of that. He would make it right; he had to. _We'll talk about this_, he wanted to say. But then it occurred to him . . . When? If he wanted to have that conversation, he'd have already got over with it. But he waited. . . . Actually, it wasn't really waiting. There was no set date in his mind. He didn't bother with thinking how he would eventually solve the problem. At the moment, all he could think about was wrestling. There was an important match tomorrow, and he needed to be ready for it . . . both physically and mentally. It wasn't fair to her, but Renee was not a priority number one right now.

"I should go," he said. Finally he broke the uncomfortable presence of his body close to hers. Before leaving, he turned around one more time, getting a spontaneous yet inappropriate idea. "You wanna carpool to Philadelphia?" Subsequently, he remembered. "Right, you have that dinner thing. I forgot."

"Even if I didn't . . ." Renee didn't finish the sentence, but it had to be clear to them both that the times that they shared a ride were over.

"Well, see you later then." He returned to the bedroom to get that box that he actually came there for.

She followed him at first, but then stopped in the hallway. He came to her in a minute, looked at her, but he couldn't see a sign of friendship on her face. Before he opened the door, she said to him, "You still owe me that explanation." As if to remind him that they needed to conclude that topic.

She made him look at her. Those answers he never gave her were no minor issues. Maybe he thought he could just leave it unspoken, and at times she assured him she accepted his goodbye the way it happened, but she never would. She's been going back and forth about making that decision whether she wants to know or not. But this was not only about what they wanted, it was about doing the right thing. Tell the truth.

Dean looked nervous. He wished he could leave, but in fact it wasn't only her what stopped him from leaving her apartment. Of course he felt guilty, and his consciousness, that internal little angel whispered into his ear that he has to give her an explanation. So before leaving, he said, "For now, my selfishness's got to suffice."

"That's not a reason," she rejected his justification.

"Why isn't it enough? I take the blame. It was all my fault, not yours."

"I want you to be honest, not efficient."

He kept stepping around, showing nervousness as much as boredom. This talk would not happen now. "You want honesty?" The masculine dominancy prevailed. "I honestly don't want to talk about our past, our present, or our future. Right now none of those conversations are going to happen."

She found courage to ask, "When then?"

"When I have time. I'm sorry, but I really don't have time for you now."

"You're an asshole."

He took that as his due. But all he did to show his possible agreement with her name for him was shrugging his shoulders. It was clear that he didn't care at all. "Take it or leave it."

"Oh, wow," she exclaimed. This was too much. Still, she couldn't understand why he acted like that toward her. She did nothing wrong. Or did she?

Although she seemed to be preparing for saying something, he was the first one to speak. "I gotta go."

"So I'm just wasting your time."

That was what he was saying. Yet, he didn't mean it. Not completely. But it was true that he had no time to explain himself clearly, without saying something abrupt and hurting her feelings. He decided to make one promise. "We'll get to it. After . . ." Again, he had no idea when. When was he free? His schedule was pretty busy with all the wrestling events. Sure, he could find five minutes to sum up why he had to break up with her. As a matter of fact, he could do it right now. What stopped him was the reality. It wouldn't be five minutes of his time; it would be hours spent by thinking about it before it happens and after it, too. This was a complex thing. Something that demanded all his attention. And although now it wasn't that much different, he was able to control his thoughts better when she knew as little as possible. Let her think he was an asshole; let her think that he did it because he was too selfish to care about her. There was some truth in it. In the end, he would tell her the whole truth, just not now. And he couldn't give her a promise of a certain time when he ends the abstract hostility and gives her a true reason to hate him.

"You know what, Dean? Why don't you just write me an email? Or better, let's do it this way. I get that there's the Royal Rumble tomorrow. So from Monday you have two weeks. If you choose not to tell me in that period, just keep it to yourself. I'll take it as we're done . . . for good."

"I said I would explain it to you."

"I really don't think I can count on your word."

For some reason, that sentence annoyed him more than anything she's said before. "Uhm . . . excuse me?" He let the door behind him be and changed his focus on the person in front of him. He needed at least another minute before he leaves. "Have I ever done something that would portray me as an untrustworthy person?"

"Is that a joke?" She laughed, too.

"No, I'm serious. Apart from the break-up . . . what evidence is there?"

"Ten minutes ago you yourself admitted that you've lied to me . . . you've kept things from me . . . isn't that enough?"

"Concrete example," he said, a bit arrogantly.

"Hmm . . ." The reason for her pause was not that she couldn't think of anything. She just really didn't want to fight with him. He was about to leave anyway. Why fight? The only thing she really wanted to argue about was the break-up, and he clearly opposed that. All she was left with were the examples from the past . . . but they were in the past, as was their relationship. There was no need to open up the old wounds.

"Fine. Can I say something now?" He continued after her confident nodding. "I've been willing to take the blame. But take a look at yourself. You're no saint. Two weeks after we break up you find another guy. Don't tell me you fell in love with him. . . . Besides, ten minutes ago – when we're at that – you claimed you still loved me. You wanted to get back together? You realize that you're in a relationship . . . or dating or whatever it is you're doing . . . or _who_ you're doing," he said for some reason, however quietly. "That guy clearly doesn't mean much to you when you're willing to throw him away when there appears to be a chance to restore our relationship." He wouldn't let her interrupt – nor she attempted to. "You're with him him to get me mad, make me _jealous_, that's how I've understood it . . . and I think I'm correct. And then there are all those texts from other guys. . . . Plan B? And C? And D, maybe? You know what? I think you're not ready to have that talk either. I'm not saying I'm not primarily the one postponing it, but take a look at yourself . . . again. When I want to talk about us, I want to talk about it with the girl I used to go out with, not the person you're pretending to be now. I'm okay with you screaming at me, but fuck this passive-aggressive behavior." Now he made a pause long enough for her to say something. She didn't. He turned around, as if to leave again, but he stayed. He wasn't finished yet. "Ditch the Greg-guy. Be single for a while. Let it all sink in . . . don't pretend everything's fine."

"You know nothing."

"Well," he said, opposing her as he used to, "I'm going through the same things you are. I lost a girlfriend too. Don't think that just because I initiated it it's that different for me." His voice was kind of friendly now. Even soothing. It was in total contrast to the one he had been using before. "Anyway, what's I'm saying is, when we get through this phase, when there'll be no immediate hard feelings – I'm sorry, but I really don't think it's gonna be up to two weeks – then we'll talk about it."

"I don't think there's gonna be someone to care then."

"I believe there will."

"If you're leaving the back door open by not telling me –"

He refused that accusation. "That's not the reason." To whether or not he meant to leave the back door open in general . . . he chose not to address that matter.

"So what is?"

"I've already told you; I need time for that talk."

"And I said you have two weeks," she told him.

"Renee . . ."

No sweet words would change her mind. There appeared to be nothing to change her opinion. "Whatever," Renee said.

"Come on," he exclaimed. "Don't say whatever . . . just don't say _whatever_."

"Dean," she addressed him. "Bye."

They appeared so confused. First, he wanted to leave. Then, when she gave him an opportunity to go and leave it as it was – unspoken – he wasn't happy either. Dean always seemed to want more. Yet, unsure of what his ultimate goal was. Did he have any vague idea at least? And the same went for her, really. Renee couldn't make up her mind. Would it be better to know now or later? Or wouldn't it be better to let it go for good? Fuck the reason; it wouldn't change the fact that their relationship was over. That may have been the ultimate truth, but they did not accept it as a definite state of their affairs. There was hostility, so much suppressed anger that it would boil at any good enough occasion. At this stage of their post-relationship, they were looking for excuses to start a fight. Peaceful coexistence would work, at least not yet.

Dean changed his mind. Again. "I'm not leaving."

"Well, you don't live here, do you?" Renee reminded him. That was of no interest nor importance to him. The box that he had been holding until now was accommodated on the floor. The door would not be touched in next few minutes for sure. Dean decided to stay, even though that was against what he preached. He left the exit area and returned to the kitchen. Then he decided that there was better atmosphere in the bedroom. In the end, that was the one place where he could always make her surrender. Okay, maybe it was different now, but he believed that past experience could help.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for her to come. She took her time. When she finally showed in the doorway, her facial expression suggested she was not happy about the turn of events.

She said, "You have no right to be here. When I want you to leave, you leave."

"Or what? You call the cops? Please."

"Go," she repeated. There was no strategy; she was aware that she was practically begging him now. All she wanted was to achieve peace of mind. That could only happen after he leaves.

"I should," he admitted. "But I don't mind being a little late. They'll wait for me." The confidence combined with lack of seriousness was so fucking annoying. Even though the way he talked and acted attracted her before, now she couldn't stand it. She swore she didn't feel like this a week ago. Even she had troubles understanding what was happening. Why it kept getting worse. Well, that hate that she claimed earlier did not exist was emerging now. At this point, the image of tomorrow's Royal Rumble, the possible encounters with her ex-boyfriend were frightening. Suddenly there was a possibility she wouldn't be able to handle dealing with him as though with a coworker. That scared her. She wouldn't think of it when he appeared in her apartment today. Now, however, it seemed like a real option. She knew she would have to do something about it; they certainly couldn't avoid each other in the workplace. So there was another thing to keep her awake at night.

He knew she wasn't really paying attention to him. But in the meantime, he simply watched her. Observed whether there existed a possibility of her bursting into tears or start shouting at him, trying to forcibly get him out of her apartment. Well, none of those threats seemed imminent.

"Tell me what you're thinking about," he asked her.

She stopped abstractedly watching the ground and looked up at him, but there was no answer in her face. He would need to wait for her to speak. And she would, soon enough. "I hate you."

"Well, finally." He laughed. "Isn't it funny, though?" To him, it clearly was. "Not that long ago you said you loved me. And you meant it. Now you're saying you hate me. And I can tell you mean it too."

"And the best word you found to describe it is _funny_." Nah, she didn't agree with that word selection. Scary. Sad. Frustrating. Bitter. Worrisome. All those words were more suitable.

He opened his mouth to say something that would perhaps explain why he found it funny. Or make a remark about the bright side of it. Well, he ended up saying "I still love you, you know." And he said it with so much easiness. There was not worrying. As if he had a plan and everything went according to it. These mood swings were something she couldn't understand.

"I'm disgusted by you."

Now he stood up and made steps in her direction just to walk past her and end up in the hallway. He found the box that he left there and picked it up. While still standing in that spot by the door, he noticed a photograph laying more or less on the top of the pile and took it out. It was a picture where they were together. They were alone, and it was apparent from her arm position that Renee took that picture. Anyway, he couldn't really tell when it was taken, but it seemed to be a while ago. He was facing right, kissing Renee's cheek, and he looked strange. Drunk, probably. Not _love_ drunk. Just drunk. But she was smiling. Well, he held that picture, looking at it for a minute, and then he decided to place it on a cabinet in the hallway. Renee already had some pictures there, and Dean was almost certain that there were more before, but those were probably the ones with him in them, and quite understandably she did not want to look at them anymore so she put them away. Now Dean added this one to the selection. She'll probably put it away when she sees it, but Dean wanted it to stay, even if that were to be only for five minutes.

The rest of the insides of the box remained in the box for now. Dean held it and brought it with him back to the bedroom. Renee already moved inside. She was now standing in about the middle of the room with her arms crossed, looking judgmentally at the person who returned. He wondered if she thought he would leave. Probably not.

"So what's the plan?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you gotta have some plan. What are we doing here? We won't talk about the past and there's no future to talk about. We don't share present either, so why did you stay? You wanna remain silent until . . . I don't know, you have to go? Or you wanna talk? Argue? Or make sure I won't go have that dinner with Greg?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

"Well, why don't you figure it out and come back with a clear result?"

"I think I'll just stay."

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "I don't want you here, Dean! Just . . . leave." She was losing fight with her emotions. The anger arrived first. But if he keeps teasing her, she might end up crying too. "Is that so much to ask for?"

"I'll go," he said, sounding as though he finally understood what she wanted. But his maintaining in the room was contradictory to the words that left his mouth.

"Now."

"No."

She grabbed her phone as a last resort.

"You're not seriously calling the cops, are you?"

Soon enough he noticed she wasn't making a phone call but writing a text message. . . . if she wasn't browsing the web, which would be kind of strange under these circumstances.

"What _are_ you doing?" he asked so that he would get her to clear his confused mind.

She said nothing.

It all cleared up thirty seconds later. Dean's phone rang, and the person calling was Roman.

"You didn't . . ." Dean addressed her, maintaining an eye contact with her, letting her know that he was suspicious and judgmental of her actions. However, he picked up his phone before finishing the accusation.

"Yep?" Dean turned around to focus on the call. In the meantime, Renee remained standing in the same spot, in a safe distance from him, waiting for him to get the message.

"Really?" Dean glanced at Renee with a judgmental look. "Well –" He wasn't allowed to finish because clearly the person on the other side had something to say. "Yes." "Come on!" Dean exclaimed. "I didn't do an–" "I've been nice," he said calmly. Then as a reaction to something Roman said, he laughed. "Right. 'Cause – " "And if not?" "Fiine. . . . Yes." Then the call ended. Dean turned back to Renee and asked her the same question that he addressed his friend earlier. "Really?" He was judging her. Well, after all, she did text Roman and explained her situation to him so that he would call Dean and make him leave. But to resort to something so degrading . . . Well, she saw she had no other option. Not even now there could be seen wavering or regret of that decision on her part.

"Go," she repeated, completely ignoring his complaints. "Leave."

"I haven't done anything." One could hear he meant those words. Dean believed that in general he did nothing to deserve her acting that way. At least not today. And, according to him, she couldn't always get what she wanted just because he broke up with her. Yes, that was the one thing he was guilty of, but she couldn't keep rubbing that in his face in order to avoid having to spend more than two minutes with him.

"You were supposed to come here, get your stuff, and leave. Yet you're still here, complaining about how everything's unfair, how you don't want to be with me but I can't be with anybody else either. You refuse to tell me why it is so. What do you want?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I know what I want. I want you out of my life. And if that's not possible, I want you at least out of my apartment."

"Okay," he said. There was a change on his part. Joking did not interest him anymore. He realized he must have crossed the line at some point. Renee standing in this room right now was not the one he could make laugh and by that make her forgive him. Now she was merciless, but she was what he made her. She was getting sick of him. Of his childish behavior. If it was meant to be over, why can't he respect it? Breaking up means they won't hang out anymore. They will not stay in the same room laughing over some joke he heard on the internet or watch a movie. They are not a couple. And right now it appears that they are not friends anymore either. It is as she described it; they're coworkers. That's pretty much it. "But I –" Dean attempted to say something. Leave with clean slate if that was possible.

"No, Dean. No but. Just go."

"But we will talk about it . . . right?" He asked with hope, but now he wasn't sure that would happen.

"As I said, you have two weeks if you want me to change my opinion on you."

"Two weeks is not –"

"Take it or leave it."

He continued despite the interruption. ". . . enough."

Although unwillingly, she took her phone and checked the calendar. She thought if she could do something about that date, do that one last favor to him. After a minute of hesitant consideration, she came with an extension to the deadline. "Fine. February 13. That's the last day I'm willing to accept your explanation."

"13th?" He checked that date. "Friday the 13th?"

She didn't realize that, but it was definitely not a deal-breaker to her. "You want 12th?" Her voice was distant. She made it sound like an order, like if she was his boss and Dean was an unreliable employee who keeps screwing up and until now she's been only giving him last warnings, but now she had enough, and she made it clear that there would be no more concessions. "I can move the deadline to a sooner date if that's what you want. But there's no way I'm spending Valentine's Day with you on my mind."

"Oh, that's right." Valentine's Day totally slipped his mind. "Yeah, well, I'm not here that day anyway." She could peacefully enjoy her date knowing he was in Abu Dhabi. But the thing was, those earlier deadlines did not suit him either. "You know I'm in the Emirates those days."

She showed no sympathy. "I believe they have internet there."

"Renee, I'm not writing you an email. We need to _talk_ about it." In any other case, he would not want to have a discussion about anything. That revealed how much he cared about it. "Please."

"13th of February. You can do it sooner. Or you can choose to never do it. You know, that's also an option."

"It's not an option," he refused.

"Well you have long enough time to make up your mind. Find the best way to do it, find the right words that would perhaps allow us to become friends later. . . . It's your choice, Dean. I can't make you tell me the truth. But realize that I don't have eternity to deal with you. Once it's over it's supposed to be over . . . why should we drag it, be returning to it for months?"

"I know, I know . . . friday the 13th. Take it or leave it . . ." he repeated in a sarcastic tone.

"Cool. So . . . can you finally leave now?"

"I need more time."

Renee sighed. Anger was turning into despair. This became an annoying, dragging conversation about nothing. Why can't he turn around and go? He was the one saying he didn't have time, after all. . . . But okay, if he wanted to play this game, she would give him what he wanted. Sort of. "Okay. Time for what?"

"You know."

"I don't, really. I seriously can't think of one explanation that would take longer than two weeks to prepare. Why the hell is it so fucking complicated for you? I'm not asking for a thesis, for God's sake . . . all I want is one or two sentences that would explain why you broke up with me."

"It's not that simple," he said.

She couldn't understand why he turned this into a problem. Most people deal with this within few minutes of their break-up; why almost a month later is she and Dean still having this discussion? "Seriously. Give me one example."

"Okay. Maybe you have a point," he finally admitted. "I could deal with it here and now. But I wouldn't be happy with it."

"Oh," she exclaimed in a satirical voice. "So Mr. I-need-more-time wouldn't be happy with it? Well, happiness was never a condition. For one thing, I can guarantee you right now that it won't make me happy to hear the explanation. I just want it so that we're really done. So that . . . I don't know, perhaps I can work on it and not do the same mistake in my future relationship. Or so that I know it was completely your fault and I can be even glad we're not together anymore." She was making fun of him.

"Don't dramatize."

"You know, now that I think about it, there comes to mind one reason why you would need more time." She paused for effect. "To come up with a reason."

"You think I don't know why I did it? You think I have to think of some excuse that would sound plausible and that would justify our break-up?"

"Yes," she confidently replied. Then she added, leisurely, "Other than that, for any other reason one-sentence explanation would be sufficie–" Her phone beeped and she didn't bother finishing that sentence. She checked her phone and saw a message from Roman. _Is he gone?_ He wanted to know. Renee looked at Dean again and smiled. _No_. She replied to Roman.

Of course, a call followed.

Dean took his time looking at it, he watched Renee instead, so she told him, "You might wanna pick it up. It's Roman."

"Why?"

"Well, he asked whether you've already left and I said no. So I suggest you come up with a good excuse as to why you are still here."

Dean groaned. Although he did not want to, but he knew he had to get it. Roman could get pretty pissed if Dean kept making him wait. Thus, he answered the phone, and immediately he had to move it away from his ear to not go deaf from all the yelling. "Jeez! Calm down," Dean shouted back five seconds later. "I know . . . I remember." He smiled. "Yes." Then he looked at Renee who would not return the stupidly happy, in a crazy way, look. "We're just talking. Nothing illegal's happening here," he informed him. "I can assure you." Next minutes he spent just listening to Roman, and then Dean said, "You're the only one angry here." Finally Dean turned to Renee. "Do you want me gone?" Maybe she should have, but she didn't reply. Was it the kind way Dean asked her? She didn't know. "She didn't say anything," Dean let Roman know. "Yeah . . . but that was earlier. We've made up since then." Again, Dean smiled. This time the smile was directed at Renee, and it was totally honest. "You can talk to her if you like." Apparently Roman wanted to do so, to probably check if those weren't lies, so Dean handed his phone over to Renee. He had to make a few steps in order to get to her because she seemed unwilling to move.

Renee heard Roman asking a couple of questions, but she got in some kind of melancholic apathy and did not want to speak. She kept making hmm noises, but they were too unsure for Roman to be able to make his mind about the situation that was taking place in Renee's apartment. Then to one question Renee decided to reply more directly. "No," she said. She continued listening to a speech. In the meantime, she sat down and waited quietly until she got the chance to speak again. "Thanks anyway." She ended the call and returned the phone to Dean.

"What did he say?" Dean asked. He noticed that something has changed about her. Yeah, the anger disappeared . . . or at least diminished to a level that did not present a threat anymore. She was calm now. Calm but not in a good way. Nothing improved in her viewing of him. It wasn't that she suddenly liked him more or something. Maybe she just got tired of him.

That was probably closest to the truth. She sat on the bed, looking at the wall. Dean asked her a question, but she wouldn't answer. Why anyway? For the most part, Dean knew what Roman told her because the words he used were mostly the same he used talking to him. Sure, then he asked if she was alright . . . if she didn't need help. . . . This wasn't a crisis. Besides, somehow she still believed Dean would leave on his own.

"While I'm glad you're not screaming at me . . . this is not the kind of progress I wanted," Dean said. To him, she appeared to have resigned on the situation. She wouldn't force her demands because she knew she couldn't succeed. Or that passivity was her solution to the problem. If he sees her sad, he'll decide to leave her alone. But did she not know him at all?

Before deciding on the next step, Dean – without her noticing – switched his phone off. Then he walked toward her and sat down on the bed right next to her. She was looking ahead while he was staring at her hands playing with each other on her knees. It would be a lie to claim he wasn't considering taking her hand or even hugging her. However, he did none of those things. The sense of reality prevented all his desires from coming true.

"Are you okay?"

She was. The silence did not mean it was otherwise. But he couldn't know the truth, and she chose not to tell him. What she focused on was the floor now. She cleared her mind and waited. Although Dean thought she was frowning and that she was sad, probably as a result of something he did, she was fine. Apathetic . . . yes. But she reached that inner peace, and more or less her silence was strategic. She got a help in this plan with another beeping sound of her phone. Making sure he wouldn't notice, she smiled and looked at the phone to check the message. Roman really worried. _Is he still there?_ She watched the keyboard and held the tip of the finger in a safe enough distance to not press anything. Dean must have been wondering whether she didn't know what to write. Whether she wanted to reply at all. . . . Of course he noticed the message. He was still right beside her, and it was clear to both that he would look. And he kept looking at her private correspondence, waiting for that answer. Then her fingers started moving as she typed the response. _No._ That wasn't an error. And thinking this, Dean started wondering whether that wasn't a signal for him to leave. Renee just saved him from an unpleasant, demeaning conversation. Well, at least she made his situation a little better.

"Thanks," Dean said to her.

She remained silent. No, not a single syllable would leave her mouth. Maybe that'll make Dean realize he shouldn't be there.

That plan – if it really was a plan – worked. "I should go." He didn't make it clear whether his decision to leave had anything to do with the message Renee sent to Roman or with Renee's quietness and evident unhappiness with his presence. It was also true that he couldn't waste more time, that he needed to hurry because, after all, he had a schedule to follow. He said that at the beginning, and it was as true then as it was now. So he had to go and she didn't want him in her apartment. What made him stay for so long? Guilt? Or the feelings he still had for her? No matter how it really was, he wouldn't analyze it. That was the plan, after all.

He stood up and picked up the box again. This time he had to stay focused. No more distractions and no more decisions to stay a minute longer. "So," he turned to her, "I guess I see you later." Okay, one more time he'd break the rule. He'd wait another minute – not longer – before leaving. She had to say something. At least bye. But she was silent. "Renee," he called her to get her to react. That did not happen. "Bye," he said, and anticipated her goodbye. Two minutes passed. "Okay," he sighed, and turned around. Confused, irritated but knowing it was his fault, he approached the door. He turned around once more, hoping that she maybe stood behind him, that she wanted to say bye at last. . . . There was nobody. He felt somehow disappointed. On the right side, he noticed the picture he placed there a little earlier. The time when he was able to make her smile was gone. Dean left, and took the picture with him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Forty-eight, forty-nine . . ." A sigh followed. "Fifty." The counting stopped but the push-ups continued. And he went on even when he heard somebody opening the door. "Fifty-eight, fifty-nine –" Before being able to say the number, the person who just entered the room opened his mouth and ruined the perfect, undisturbed atmosphere, ideal for a pre-match workout.

"I said it was impossible."

Dean continued with his push-ups, but he lost count thanks to the person taking his mind off counting. "Where was I?"

"Twenty-five."

Dean knew that was far from reality, but still, he did not remember precisely. "One, two . . ."

"You feel better now?"

He could not go on for longer than five push-ups. However, it wasn't his body that would be reaching its limit, it was the person who wouldn't keep his mouth shut. A tall man with muscular body, dark eyes, long, black, and wet hair.

Dean grabbed a towel nearby and wiped the sweat off his face. "Don't start."

"I wouldn't. But I want to remind you that your plan is not working."

"You already said it was stupid. I heard you the first time. Besides," he continued, now deciding to go back to physical exercise. A series of quick high jumps interrupted his speech. When he went for planking, despite knowing it would exhaust him more, he started speaking again, continuing where he left off. "You're not helping. How am I supposed to succeed when you keep bringing it up?"

Roman defended himself, "I tried to help. I did everything what was in my power to get you out of it, but you're so obsessed . . ." His voice was louder at the end.

As was expected of him, Dean protested, "No, I'm not."

"How could you think you could succeed?"

For better focus and increased ability to speak, Dean stopped exercising and simply stood by the wall, resting. "First of all, none of you is supposed to dig into it. How come that all of a sudden people are so fucking interested in my personal life?"

Roman chuckled. "They always were; you just didn't notice."

Dean was not going to argue with Roman on that matter. "Well, it's my life; I'm the one living it, so fuck off." Now he addressed all people in general, and for that reason Roman did not get offended. "I do what I want." Seeing the disapproval on his friend's face, he reconsidered that statement. "I do what I consider right."

"Stubborn as always." Roman was gonna let it go, but instinct failed him. "Right now you're not achieving anything." And since he reopened the topic, he realized he might as well just fully examine the subject and whole Dean's strategy. But just to let Dean breathe at least a little, he sat down, changing his focus to the clock on the wall. "You could have just left it the way it was. What's different now, really?" Although formerly a rhetorical question, Roman himself was the one to offer an answer. "You hate each other. That's all. . . . I mean, _she_ hates _you_. You keep being too stubborn and proud to let love rule your life, huh? It's such a stupid thing . . . _love_," Roman said with sarcasm, making fun of Dean while giving him a lesson. "You're Dean Ambrose, you make your own decisions; you don't need love to tell you what to do." He looked at him now, however, Dean turned away from him so he couldn't see. "Maybe you've never been in love. You fought that emotion away too hard and never really surrendered to it. Because if you really were in love with her, you would never do it."

Dean turned to him now. "Would you shut up already?"

"I'm just telling you how it is."

"You don't know how it is," Dean countered.

"You've told me, remember? Maybe you can play this card with those who still think you did it for no reason, like Renee, or those who think you did it because there's somebody else, like Seth does."

"Maybe what I told you was a lie," Dean suggested in hope to make Roman at least consider that option.

"It'll backfire on you. I'm just sayin'. . . . Those are things you can't control."

"Then it's permanent, I guess," Dean just said, casually, knowing it would finally shut Roman's mouth.

As Roman kept watching him, Dean went back to his business. No more exercising, though. He grabbed his phone and checked the messages and emails. He ignored all that were not convenient for him. He smiled at a funny picture that someone sent him, but that was about it. The phone went back into the pocket of his jacket. The silence annoyed him so he started whistling some melody. It was fast, cheerful, but he couldn't really tell what song it was.

Now more enthusiastic, he turned to Roman and laughed. "There's more, isn't there?" he asked. His voice did not suggest that he would be tired of all the conversations that saw him as the guilty one anyway. At times, when he crossed a certain point, he was even able to enjoy it. Take it in and let it out, all within a second.

"You should talk to him."

"Talk about what?" Dean teased Roman.

"You know."

"There's no point in it." Dean kept the smile on his face; that joke that he heard yesterday and popped into his head now helped too.

"You're not happy with the situation –"

"I'm not pissed at him. He didn't do anything wrong, really."

"Yet you avoid him."

"No."

"Yes," Roman insisted. He could come up with many examples to support his argument if that were necessary.

"Well, thanks for . . . sharing your opinion, but everything's fine."

"Should I tell you why that's a lie?"

"Look, Rome, this is a transition period. You'll see that everything'll go back to normal," Dean told him with confidence.

"When?"

Dean chuckled. He didn't know the exact date but he had a rough idea. "When unstable becomes stable."

Dean didn't get a chance to fully enjoy Roman's disapproval because in that moment the door flew wide open and one of their coworkers let himself in. Adam Rose cheerfully came in and the conversation between the two guys died immediately.

The newcomer looked at Ambrose and posed him a question. "Guess who just got roses?"

To answer in the way Dean thought Rose wanted him to, he said, "Me?"

Adam Rose shook his head, pretending to be sad for him. "No." Before Dean would lose interest, he revealed the correct answer. "Miss . . . _Your Ex_."

Dean looked at Roman, not the guy who revealed that information to him. Only when he was ready to ask a follow-up question, he turned back to Rose. "From who?" The anger was building up, but for now, only Roman noticed it.

"A pretty pretty guy," Rose sang, smiling.

Now Dean stepped up his attitude, not giving a damn about being friendly or professional. Jealousy guided his action when he grabbed Adam Rose by his shirt and showed him his pissed face. "Name," he demanded.

Rose apologetically shrugged his shoulders and faked a frown. "Sorry. I don't know his name." Then he smiled again. "But he's a pretty pretty guy," he added in a musical voice.

"No, he's not."

Now Roman joined the discussion. "So you know who it is?" he turned to Dean with a question. He acted nicely, casually now, but he would certainly question Dean about his overreaction, illogical jealousy because of someone he was no longer romantically involved with.

"He's a hundred times worse looking than me," Dean said. "And he's a nobody."

"You're wrong," opposed Rose. "He's a pr–"

As Rose was getting into singing again, Dean tightened his grip on him. "Say it one more time, and I'll make you cry."

Roman just stood by, witnessing his friend's evidence of failure to handle his jealousy, not doing anything about. As long as there was no blood. . . .

"He's a big fish." Dean laughed. Hardly, he thought. But there was Rose to prove him wrong again. "He's a hockey player."

Dean's assumption was wrong the whole time. It was not Greg that got Renee the flowers.

"What hockey player?" Roman was the first to ask; but even if didn't, Dean would probably pose the same, or similar, question.

"The one Renee's going out with."

Roman directed his next question at Dean. "She's going out with a hockey player?" Only after the sentence had been pronounced, Roman realized that he was supposed to take Dean's mind off this topic, and not to add fuel to the fire. "Anyway, _Adam_, thanks for sharing that information with us, but you better leave now before someone gets hurt." He truly meant, before _you_ get hurt. And judging by Dean's face, the bomb was ticking.

Acting as a commander, he got Rose out. Now he just needed to calm Dean. Or . . . use the evidence to his advantage. "How exactly do you not care? It's all the same," Roman said. "She's still in your mind."

"No, she's not," Dean tried to persuade him. However, all his trying went to waste when he stayed on that subject matter. "Another guy?" He sighed, irritated.

"You're not supposed to care," Roman reminded him.

"I don't care. . . . But what she's doing –"

"Is her business, not yours," Roman finished the sentence the way he thought appropriate.

"Why is she doing it?"

Roman changed strategy. "You know, new month, new guy." He regretted those words after Dean looked at him, and Roman saw an emotion that would easily get Dean in prison if he followed the instinct. Roman attempted to undo what he did. "Ok, sorry." It was true, though. But nobody needed to point it out. "What I'm saying is, you didn't want her to occupy your mind. Now she is. When she walks by, she's all you're thinking about. When someone mentions her, well, there she is again. You can't stop thinking about her." He reminded him one thing. "I'm not blaming you. I'm pointing out the holes in your plan. Your strategy sucks. So here's my idea. Go talk to Seth, resolve the issues you two have, and then go ask Renee to take you back." There was a sign that Dean would agree with that idea, but he would most certainly object regardless. Therefore, Roman said, "Or you know, keep all the things to yourself, bury the problems deep inside, and keep distancing yourself from people you care about. But in that case, do it right." He explained, "No anger when you hear she's going out with someone. Well, guess what? You left her and she's not obliged to stay single for the rest of her life . . . or even until you decide you want her back."

Dean hated Roman. Mostly for the fact that he was right. Probably. Well, one thing was sure: he was indeed jealous. Not only that. Now he was even angry at Renee. Why was she doing it? Jump from one relationship into another. . . . And then another? "I need to talk to her," Dean suddenly said.

"No. Have you not got what I just said? Or . . ." He realized that maybe Dean decided to take his advice. He just couldn't tell what direction Dean's thinking was taking. "What do you wanna do?"

"Talk to her."

"About what?" Roman remained suspicious.

Dean stood still. Even though Roman was not standing in the way, blocking his attempt to leave – as he originally wanted – Dean did not make a single step toward the exit. He was wondering . . . what was it that he wanted to talk to her about? Actually the topic of the conversation was not his only, not even the main, concern. What was the objective? What would he gain? That question was not to suggest that he needed to get something out of it, rather how it would help anything? Would it? Probably not . . . not at this stage at least. Therefore Dean remained in the room. With Roman observing his movements and facial expressions. That guy had to be wondering what was going on Dean's mind. Well, he wasn't acquainted with the process, but he got to see the result. Nothing changed.

"I'm not going to talk to her."

"Can I know why?"

Dean chuckled. He got the impression that Roman would gladly accept his thorough report of everything that he's been doing. And the reasoning; that was the most important part. Why did you do it? Why didn't you do it? That seemed funny to be Dean. But in the end, it was Dean's fault. He was the one who involved Roman in this, therefore he was the only one to blame. Finally, Dean awarded Roman with that reason. "It's not part of the plan."

"So you let her be happy with someone else?"

"A bunch of roses does not mean she's happy."

"Okay. But you're –" Roman had difficulty finding words that would reflect his opinion.

"Yeah?"

Roman stayed quiet for another minute, wondering what to say, how to say it the way that would not offend Dean or something. Then he said, "Nothing."

Dean was not one of those who would demand to know what the other person had to say. He simply let it leave his mind, switching his focus on what _he_ had to say. That wasn't much. Just to conclude the topic and move on, pay attention to his preferred activities again. "It doesn't matter what she's doing anyway," he said. While pronouncing those words, he had in mind that there would be a reaction from his friend. That mattered to him little, though. His eyes were already looking at the floor, his brain coming up with ways Dean could get use of it. There was still some time before he needs to leave to entertain the crowd; he could use this spare time to his advantage. Exercise a little more. The floor was attracting him and gravity at that point became crucial because his consciousness was so much weaker. The body dropped on the floor, doing a couple more push-ups.

His mind already left the topic and did not find it strange that Roman didn't continue in the conversation. The room was quiet, except for Dean's breathing. But Roman was still there, watching Dean, probably wondering how he could be suddenly so calm. Just a minute ago he was set on talking to his ex-girlfriend to explore why she was so keen on some hockey player when she was dating a WWE cameraman just a week ago, and now he was doing push-ups. To be fair, Roman himself was curious to find out why Renee was changing her partners so rapidly. Before she started dating Dean, meaningless affairs were hardly a norm.

While Roman continued standing there, bewildered, Dean was warming up. Actually it was more than that. He already spent a considerable amount of time exercising, pushing himself to the limit even though he needed to spare some energy for the action in and around the ring. However, his body did not seem to care and brain failed to offer logic or control what was happening.

There could be heard voices from the outside. Possibly some other wrestlers were coming into the locker room. They were getting closer, but perhaps a conversation made them stay outside a little longer. Those talking voices were familiar, as well as the laughter. Among others, there was Seth Rollins, too. That made Roman raise that issue once again.

"Seth has no idea."

Dean got up and made a few high jumps. After five of them, he stopped and stood still. Now he looked at Roman. Even though he might have appeared to be about to say something, he didn't. His ears were focusing on the noise in front of the room. A group of people, talking. Yes, there was Seth among them. But Dean was able to identify another person. Triple H. Now they were all laughing. Then, just a couple of seconds later, several wrestlers walked into the room. There was Seth, there was John Cena, there was Randy Orton, and there was Bray Wyatt. Dean briefly looked at them as they one by one walked through the door. He looked around as well to see if he didn't have his stuff laying around. There was just a towel thrown over the bench, but he didn't care about that much. Switching his attention to the newcomers again, who were still continuing in their previous _hilarious_ conversation, he got an eye contact with Mr. Money in the Bank, even though it wasn't intentional. Seth, now being the one talking, looked at him casually whilst Dean's eyes looked unfriendly and unapproachable. Clearly, it was a disappointment that he failed to avoid the eye contact. Nevertheless, Seth did not focus on him, and certainly he wouldn't analyze why Dean showed no positive reception of seeing him. Moreover, either it was by their busyness or carelessness, but Dean's coworkers, except for one who was standing by the wall, paying too much attention to him, didn't notice Dean's attempt to flee the cave as soon as it had been invaded. Dean walked past the guys and wouldn't stop until he reached the door. No hello, no goodbye. . . . And the conversation went on.

He felt so relieved once he was out of there. It wasn't just Seth . . . all those people . . . or at least most of them. He already regretted he told Roman the truth. Back then, it seemed like a good idea to get that weight off his shoulders, to have somebody he could talk to. Back then it wasn't as bad. Now Roman . . . how come he didn't figure it out yet? Or did he, and thought it'd be easier to not bring it up?

His legs led him far. Somewhere quiet, but that place did not exist in this arena. So he looked for the loudest place instead. But unless he wanted to step foot in plain sight where all the WWE Universe could see him, he had to remain secluded from it. Well, he wasn't completely alone because not that far from him there were a couple of WWE personnel. As a matter of fact, he could see Renee there too. Drinking something, talking to someone. There were no roses that he could see, but of course if they really existed she would not carry them with her the whole night.

She couldn't see him. The way she stood did not make it possible, and he preferred it that way. Those two had nothing to say to each other. Although he felt a giant hole inside of him, he wouldn't try to fill it. It was so painful to watch her, knowing she did not belong to him anymore, that other guys were taking his spot, but he watched anyway. This did not break his oath. It wasn't against the rules that he set. It was okay to look as long as nothing happens. And as long as when he walks away he will no longer be thinking about her.

"Hey, Dean."

He stopped watching her when he heard a voice calling him. "Hey, Bryan. What's up?" This wasn't one of the times that he'd refuse to talk to people. He was alright enough to care. Maybe it was even surprising how nice he appeared at the moment.

This would not be a work conversation. Daniel Bryan just casually called him, noticing Dean was not busy, and standing alone. Also, he noticed that he's been watching Renee Young.

"I've heard that it didn't work out. I'm sorry . . . it . . . sucks."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. "It's not the end of the world."

"What happened?" It was evident that Daniel Bryan realized the inappropriateness of the question right after saying it. "Sorry."

"It wasn't for me; that's all." It wasn't. There was so much more to it, and, in fact, Dean wished to talk to somebody about it, but he just knew Daniel Bryan would not be that person. Maybe there were some issues he could understand, even help Dean with, but what Dean really wanted was one person that he could tell it all. . . . .

He stopped focusing on former world champion. His consciousness was so weak. . . . Her slender fingers embracing the cup, a smile on her face . . . the conversation she was part of must have been entertaining as hell . . . his eyes were set on her again. He couldn't help it. There were other non-wrestling company workers. Then Dean noticed Stephanie approaching the group, and from that moment on, Renee's smile was gone. Moreover, clearly because of loss of interest in what was happening around her, she noticed him. And even that neutral expression now turned into a frown. She looked at him disapprovingly, but in the next second she was again focusing on the speaker of the group.

"So," Bryan again brought Dean's attention to him. "You've got plans for this week?"

"Yeah . . . work, gym, work, gym, sleep, some more gym."

"It'll also be Big Show's birthday soon. There'll probably be some kind of celebration. . . ."

"Uhm . . . I think I'll skip that."

Dean was so little interested in talking to Bryan that his eyes were incessantly looking for some distraction. Entertainment, perhaps. . . . They caught Renee again. She was leaving. And on her way out of there she not even once looked at Dean, not even glanced.

She could be the one Dean could talk to . . . if they weren't enemies now. Since they stopped being lovers, they stopped being friends too. He could talk to pre-Dean Renee, not the post-Dean one. A second after he'd open his mouth she'd turn around and leave.

Then there was Roman who already knew almost everything. But he was too dominant to know more without forcing Dean into taking the kind of action he considered appropriate. Besides, telling Roman the rest would mean getting him into strange position due to recent developments.

In the old times, he was able to talk to Seth. Seth that would offer his opinion, some advice perhaps, but this time it wouldn't work. He was part of the problem, and so were the other two.

He needed to talk to someone impartial. Open-minded, preferably. Not a psychologist, though. It wasn't that bad. At least not yet. But he was getting low on people to whom he could talk. _Openly_. Frankly, who was there? All his friends were becoming less than friends, coworkers, acquaintances. The ones he was able to tell every secret . . . those did not exist in the company anymore. All were becoming enemies. Why? He knew; he had his reasons. Hypocritical maybe . . . but they mattered to him. And he wished he could open up to someone . . . get everything off his chest at once. Not tell one this, tell another one that. He had issues. He was trying to handle it, but he could not keep burying it anymore.

The break-up had a lot to do with it. At first he thought, soon after it happened, that it was a huge mistake. An error that he was not supposed to make. He reasoned it to himself . . . he posed himself a question. If he weren't going to marry her, would he break up with her? No. He realized he probably wouldn't. It all happened under the pressure of engagement. In that moment, he saw only two options: a) propose to Renee and get married; b) break up with her. Only a few days later he realized that there was actually a third option – keep the things as they were . . . don't propose but don't end the relationship either. Well, it was too late when he fully grasped the problem and its sudden, perhaps abrupt, solution. Moreover, that was at the beginning of January. Now it was February and things happened that made him satisfied with the way he tried to solve the problem. More and more he began to see that solitude was the answer to everything. But now that he was alone, and maybe making a progress . . . it wasn't what he imagined. Sure, it would take time for anything to change. But that did not matter; it wasn't a major concern. It wasn't certainly as important as the fact that he still wasn't happy. By the end of December and the first day of 2015, the level of happiness was so high he wouldn't even believe it. It was because of her; he knew that. Renee and their relationship were things that lit up his world. Those were the things that worked. . . . Then, on the other hand, there was the stagnation.

He should talk about it. He wanted to. But the less the people that knew, the better. Especially around here.

He ran off, away from the public, but soon entering another "public place" with enough people to call them a crowd. The men's locker room was occupied by more or less the same people as when he left it. Roman was gone. The group that made him go to look for another sanctuary was still there, now laughing over something funny that Seth Rollins said. Now that Dean entered, Seth stopped laughing and looked at his on-screen nemesis. There was a rather serious expression that however lasted only shortly, about the same time as the whole attention that Dean received from him. There were no hard feelings, though; Dean paid him even less attention. He just went for the locker that guarded his stuff and opened it to take out his phone. Then he loudly closed the locker and left again.

A wall neighboring the locker room provided enough privacy for him. The corridor was empty and quiet enough for him to focus. He glared at the phone, but gave himself little time to think about what he was about to do. With urgency, he looked up the person he wanted to call and did so. All within about three to four seconds.

It was ringing. Then the person answered. "Hello?"

"Cassie?"

She was there, but she didn't say a word. All Dean heard was her breathing.

"I need to talk to you." When she still wouldn't respond, he added, "I need your advice." But that was about it. Two more heavy breaths later she hung up.

That wouldn't stop him . . . although he found her reaction strange. He called again. It rang . . . and rang . . . and rang . . . and then she declined the call. Okay, so she didn't want to talk to him. He did not think that would happen.

There were no more attempts, for if she wanted to talk to him, she already would've. Or she would call him back and apologize for hanging up on him. . . . Well, he accepted reality and that suspicious sign of hostility on her part.

His brain came up with an idea. The phone would remain in his hand for a little while. This person picked up immediately. "Hi, Levi. It's Dean."

"Hey." At least her brother was actually glad to hear him. "How are you?"

"Uhm . . ." Why didn't that usual impulse to say _good_ come this time?

"What's going on?"

Now Dean was the quiet one. There was too much going on to summarize it in one sentence. But he gave it a shot. "I broke up with Renee, my career is at a stalemate, I am jealous of my friends, I don't have anyone to talk to about it, and your sister just hung up on me."

"Well, that's. . . ." Clearly, the guy's breath has been taken away. "That's too much to discuss over the phone."

"Yeah, I know. I thought that maybe . . . I could talk to Cassie." He took a deep breath. "Do you know if she's in Denver?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I'm in Denver." A short pause, and Dean continued. "Could you give me her address?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. You remember the old –"

Dean couldn't hear more because someone violently took his phone away from him. He angrily turned to that person. _Roman_. "What the –" Dean shouted at him. By then, Roman had already ended the call. "What are doing?"

"Saving you from making a mistake."

"You asshole! Give me my phone!" Dean fought for it, but he stood no chance. "Give it back to me!" he cried.

"No."

"Give . . . it . . . back," he said more vigorously now while holding his hand in front of him so that Roman could put there the stolen object.

"I . . . really don't think so." He was playing with him, and it really angered Dean.

However, Roman would not have the phone in his possession for much longer. It disappeared; he didn't even know how. He was holding it, and suddenly it was gone. The mistake that he made was focusing on Dean too much. He failed to notice that there was a person behind him.

"I don't know what kind of game we're playing here, but I think I win," said Paige cheerfully.

"We're not playing a _game_," Roman told her, a bit irritated and also annoyed that he lost to a girl. "Give it back to me."

"No," Dean shouted. "No, Paige, give it to _me_."

"Hmm . . . that's a really tough decision, I gotta say."

"It's not. It's mine," Dean reminded her. "It fucking belongs to _me_!"

"See? I don't know if I can believe you."

"What the hell?!" Dean was losing temper. He was really not in mood for being teased.

On the other hand, his friend took it more humorously. Roman advised her, "Don't give it to him. Keep it if you like, just do not give it to him."

They couldn't tell if it was for real, but she really seemed to be considering keeping Dean's property. "Do you have some games here?" Indeed, she was checking his phone and looking for some apps that she could waste time with.

"This is not funny," shouted Dean. "I'm in the middle of something."

When seeing hesitation on Paige's part, Roman said, "No, he's not. He's just overreacting. . . . Hates when he loses control," he explained, and it clearly sufficed for Paige to continue playing with Dean's phone.

Then it started vibrating. "Someone's calling you," she announced to the owner of the phone.

Dean's hand reflexively reached for the phone, but he still kept failing at getting it back.

"Some Levi . . ." She looked at Dean, pretending to be willing to stop teasing him. "You want it?"

"Yeah," he said angrily.

She acted confused, not knowing what to do know, but there was something in Roman's eyes that assured her that if she took it too far by any chance, she could expect Roman's protection. Therefore she said, "Should I give it back to you or should I just answer it?" And the teasing continued. "I think I'll get it." And she did. "Hey. . . . No, Dean's not here. This is Paige. . . . Yeah," she said as a wide smile was forming on her face, "That's me. . . . Ooh, thanks. . . . No, he's . . . . yeah, sure." She put her hand over the mic and turned to Dean. "She lives where she used to live with Josh," she delivered the message. Then she returned to the conversation. "Yep. . . . so . . . really?" She continued being all enthusiastic, really enjoying the dialogue she was having. "I know! So amazing." Again, she turned to the guys, and told them while pointing with her finger at the other end of the corridor, "I'll take this somewhere quiet if you don't mind." She was smiling, and Roman, too, was in good mood. Laughing over the situation he created. Dean, on the other hand, looked like about to kill someone. It was a good thing Paige was a girl because if it were Roman who did this to him, there would already be a fight happening there.

Anyhow, Dean calmed down soon after Paige left – along with his phone – because he realized he actually obtained the information he wanted. Roman, too, knew this, yet it added to his preoccupation.

"You're not meeting her," Roman said.

At the beginning, Dean's strategy was to ignore him. While he cooled over the matter of the _joke_ that the two fellow wrestlers played on him, he was still mad at Roman because of his actions. He stole his phone, ended the call, refused to return it back to him, and supported Paige in the teasing game. That was so childish. And how dared he? What gives him the right to act like that? Anyway, soon Dean reconsidered the ignoring Roman strategy, and started talking. "I can do whatever I want."

"So what is it that you want? No, tell me, honestly, what are your intentions?"

"I wanna talk to her. That's all." Dean sighed. "Look," he said, now without anger in his voice, "I'm not looking for any romantic involvement. Neither with Cassie, nor with Renee, nor with anyone else. I'm really just looking for someone I can openly talk to."

"You can talk to me."

"Uh-huh," he quietly replied.

"What's the problem? You've already told me about your issues with Seth and the reasons for breaking up with Renee."

"Yeah . . . I did," Dean confirmed.

"So? Is there more?"

Dean did not say anything this time. Roman had to search for answers without Dean's help. His need to take all the factors into consideration created a moment of silence. During this, Dean watched Roman and wondered whether he'd figure it out.

"It's not just Seth. . . ." he correctly assumed. He knew he was right because Dean said nothing that would counter it. Also, when Roman thought about it, it made sense. "Do you feel that way toward me, too?" Silence provided an answer this time as well. And knowing this, Roman felt exactly the way Dean thought he would. Confused, cornered . . . even guilty. . . . Really uncomfortable. Yes, this was precisely the reason why Dean was looking for somebody else he could share his worries with. Someone impartial . . . like Cassie.

Dean looked away. Maybe it would be a good idea to say something, but first he wanted Roman to have a chance to really think about it. It even pleased Dean to see that suffering expression on Roman's face. He had to be wondering what to do. Being convinced that it was his duty to do something because he was part of the problem. The problem that brought about the end of Dean and Renee's relationship.

"I don't know . . . what to say." Roman really felt uneasy.

The situation lowered Dean's tension. He was getting more and more relaxed. There was gum in his pocket that he took out and started chewing. Casually. Feeling that everything was under his control again.

"I wish I could help. . . ."

Dean smiled. "Still think I should tell Seth?" he asked. The answer would be negative; that was for sure.

"Maybe it'd be better if you talked to Triple H . . . or Stephanie," suggested Roman.

"Pff . . . that wouldn't help anything. Look, it's alright. I'm working on it."

"You can't spend all your free time in the gym. You need to rest, too."

"I need to get in shape."

"You _are_ in shape," Roman firmly opposed.

"Well . . . clearly not enough. . . . I gotta do something. I don't mind working out more. If that's what'll get me in the championship picture –"

"This is nonsense, Dean. You'll hurt yourself or you'll exhaust yourself so much that you'll collapse in the ring."

"Please."

"I'm serious."

But Dean insisted, "I'll do whatever is in my power. . . ."

"You don't need to risk your life to become a champion."

The conversation stopped for a minute because a group of divas walked by. In the meantime, Dean and Roman just stood there, smiling, pretending that they were casually hanging out, relaxing before the match.

Then the tension returned. They again initiated a lasting eye contact. Roman looked really dominant, and it made Dean more aggressive in his fight for truth.

"It's the only thing I can do. . . . Remember when we were in The Shield? How people used to worry that after we split Seth would be left out? Look at him now. He had an amazing match at the Royal Rumble. And you . . . you won the Royal Rumble match. You're gonna headline WrestleMania. Seth already had a shot at the WWE World Heavyweight Championship. And he's still the Money in the Bank briefcase holder. You will have your chance to prove to people that you're worthy of being a champion. But what about me? I give my best inside and outside of the ring . . . every night. People love me. I have great matches. Still, I'm not even getting a shot at the championship. I'm just here, working my ass off . . . and it's not enough."

"Dean," Roman tried to interrupt.

"No, you have nothing relevant to say," Dean attacked. "You can't tell me it's not true because it is. You know that. Maybe I'm the most popular of us three, but where does that get me? There were others who were hot, cheered by the fans every time their theme started to play . . . they never got the chance they deserved. The creative screwed it up. . . . I won't allow anyone to fuck up my career. I won't be forgotten."

"You don't see it objectively. You'll get your chance," Roman tried to make him believe.

"I'll create my chance. I'll work hard. Even harder than until now. I'll get stronger . . . better. I'll make them see that I'm a championship material. I'll show that I can make it as a champion. . . . Even the face of the company."

"Dean . . . you're not in not your late 30s! You still have plenty of time."

"So do you. So does Seth. Don't tell me it's because of my age when you have nothing to support it with."

"You will get your chance. Soon. In fact, your break-up with Renee won't make any difference. You would have become a champ even with her. . . . There are plenty of guys around here who are in a relationship and they're still at the top. . . . I'm married."

"I can't afford to have any distractions. From now on, my mind is set only on wrestling. Yes, maybe your dating status does not affect how they value you here, but that's only once they see potential in you. When I make them see I'm worthy of being a champion, I'll –"

Roman interrupted him. "You'll get back together with Renee? Is that what you're saying? 'Cause that's not how it works, Dean. She won't wait for you. Moreover, you broke her heart. You really think she'll take you back?"

Dean did not hesitate to answer in most honest way. "Right now, I don't give a damn about my dating future."

"It's crazy, that's all I'm saying."

"Fine. I still love her," he admitted although there was no direct pressure on him. "She means a lot to me even though we broke up. I hate that I hurt her . . . but I had to do it. . . . I'm really sorry, but at this time Renee would be only a burden. I would spend less and less time with her and soon enough she would notice that something's wrong. Maybe she herself would be the one to end it when she notices I'm not fully committed to the relationship. Yes," he said, "I think there's a higher chance of us getting back together when the relationship did not end because something went wrong. I have good memories of that time and I hope she has too. But right now my career is my priority. And I have to fight to achieve what I want. . . . Look, I don't have the athletic skills that Seth has. I'm not like that Triple H's 'son that he never had' either. And . . . yeah, maybe my relationship with Renee would be beneficial to me and my career . . . if she were The Rock." Dean did not even feel sorry for this confession.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't get anything without having to fight for it. I don't come from a wrestling family."

"You think if I weren't Rock's cousin I would have never won the Royal Rumble?" Roman asked, tension rising.

Now Dean realized he took it too far. "No," he said apologetically. He left his true sentiments to himself. "Sorry, I did not mean to say those things." He had to try harder to make Roman forgive him. "You deserved that victory. You deserve to become a champion. So does Seth. He does a great job. I just . . . I don't want to become a failure of The Shield." Dean bit his upper lip. This conversation was getting a bit too personal. If ever he wanted to discuss it, it wasn't with Roman. Besides, having his mind set on serious issues right before the start of the Raw was wrong. He needed to clear his mind, let everything go. "Anyway," Dean attempted to make Roman as well forget about what they just talked about. "I should find Paige and see if she gives me my phone back."

Roman pulled himself together and swallowed his recently hurt pride. "Uhm . . . I'll get it back –"

"Nah, that's fine."

They shared one last awkward eye contact before Dean turned around and started walking away, effectively leaving Roman alone with thoughts of how his friend really felt about his success.

To make himself stop feeling guilty and strange because of his revelation, Dean occupied his mouth and mind with whistling. A melody of his theme song helped him cheer up. When he was done with that, he switched to Seth's theme and started humming it. Just because he liked the beginning. He shook his head from side to side at the first tones. That brought a smile to his face. When only few steps separated him from the women's locker room, he realized he was singing AJ's _Lets Light It Up_ theme song. . . . At least nobody heard him.

He knocked on the door. It was Nikki Bella who opened, but he didn't need to explain anything as he noticed Paige standing in the distance. Dean slightly pushed Nikki aside and walked inside. "I'm not looking," he claimed, and put his hands up in defensive gesture.

While ignoring the rest of the occupants of the room, he was smiling at the thief. "You know why I'm here," he told her, not appearing to be mad at all. Rather amused. Amused and cocky.

"Yeah, I do," she said. She immediately went to get his phone and handed it over to him. "Sorry."

Dean grabbed the phone and checked what she did with it. "Why are you set as my wallpaper?"

She smiled innocently and everybody in there laughed.

Then he noticed something even more interesting. "You've talked to Levi for seven minutes?!" He looked at her and demanded an explanation.

"We didn't talk about you."

"I hope so. But seriously, seven minutes?"

"It'd be rude to end the call. . . . And he seems like a nice guy."

"Geez," Dean exclaimed, ". . . women . . ."

"Excuse me?"

Now he realized he offended the whole locker room. He was standing in about the middle, and all eyes were on him, looking with hostility and anger. "Nothing . . . I said nothing," he tried to get out of trouble.

"You have no powers here, Dean," Paige told him.

He didn't remember the last time he felt so exposed to danger. But he was amused by it. "Really? What are you gonna do?" He looked around at the forming circle around him, and he enjoyed every one of those disdainful looks.

"Kick your ass," he heard Brie calling behind his back.

"You wouldn't dare."

He turned around to face the door and attempted to leave the wicked circle. He would not have it that easy, though, because the Divas were not afraid of him.

"Really?" He laughed. He stood in front of Brie and tried to intimidate her with his height. She did look a bit worried, but she got support from the other members of the newly-established clan. Still, it didn't suffice. Not when he's been watching her with those eyes that always get what they want. He looked intimidating indeed. Frightening, backed up with his confidence. And then he said, "Boo." He said it really loudly, and a sudden movement of his hands invading Brie Bella's personal space augmented the result. Dean totally scared her.

Dean chuckled as he successfully escaped. "Amateurs," he uttered.

Paige, however, ran after him and caught him before he could leave the room. She stepped in front of him.

"So we're not done yet?" he asked.

"No. Apologize."

"For what exactly?"

"For basically saying that women spend an awful lot of time talking."

"It's true. Now if you excuse me . . ." He tried to get past her, but he failed as she refused to move one inch. "A little fight in you . . . I like that." He laughed. "But should I remind you that you were the one who stole my phone?"

"I apologized for that. Now you apologize for stereotyping women."

He looked away, smiling, with his tongue playing outside. Then he looked at her again. "No." His actions became more aggressive although his face remained kind. Dean pushed Paige aside – and this time he succeeded – but the door was another issue. She was blocking it, and he was having too much fun and pride to resort to his male strength. Instead, he called out, "I can stay here _forever_." The grin was suggesting that the girls would not want to see what he'd do there. Going through their stuff . . . discovering secrets . . . taking away their freedom to do in the locker room whatever they wanted. He was confidently staring at Paige who took charge of the command. "Hell, I even like it here. I mean, what's not to like about being the only man in the room full of women . . . with not much clothes on." He would continue joking, but then he remembered he was at work and somebody could call it a sexual harassment in the workplace. But he already made his point pretty clear. The Divas did not want him there a second longer. Paige opened the door. Dean laughed, looked around to see those who he just defeated, and coughed for effect while saying, "Amateurs." Then he laughed once more and finally left.

His next steps led into the men's locker room. He found it vacated. It brought a feeling of relaxation, freedom even. Initially, his plan was to put his phone back to its previous place in the locker. But now that he got the opportunity to be alone – even for a short period of time – and holding that phone in his hand, he wondered whether he shouldn't finish what he started. But there were no missed called or messages. And she knew it was him who called. If she were busy, she would let him know. Now all that was clear to him was that she had no interest in talking to him. Yeah, he knew where he could find her – and he considered going there – but he was almost certain he would do nothing about it. Besides, now Roman knew the whole truth. Even though he was a guy Dean did not want to talk to about his issues, he already has. And he realized that it wasn't just Roman that he had no interest in talking to.

His problems were his problems. He would figure it out. Actually, he believed he already was working on it. From now on, it would get better. He would prove to everybody that he was a championship material, he would become a champion . . . and then, perhaps, things could get back to when they were at the end of 2014. It required a lot of passion, commitment, but also luck. The championship belt was not the only prize that he wanted. He was reaching for more . . . so much more. . . . An image popped into his head. That New Year's morning, quiet New York, him lying on the bed, watching her as her eyes opened. Her apologies for the ruined night, his satisfaction. The love in her eyes, the love in his heart. . . . And another. Christmas morning when he missed her so much. And then when she appeared standing behind him, surprising him, widening the corners of his mouth, creating a loving smile. . . . His birthday party. The naughty angel. He could still taste the cake filling that he licked off her body . . . and off her tongue . . .

Suddenly the images were scattered. He remembered how someone got her roses today. It was true that she wasn't his girlfriend anymore, yet he still felt cheated on in some way. But he wasn't angry at her. He just knew that something has to be done about it. And he would do something about it . . . eventually. When he brings his plan to a successful end, he'll get her back. Even if he had to fight for it more than for that championship. The feelings that he felt toward her would not allow him to let her go. One day, they'll be together again. . . .


	7. Chapter 7

"I haven't had sex in 2015."

Dean had been thinking about something – and Seth realized that he lost his attention about two minutes ago – but Seth hardly expected this statement to be summing up Dean's concerns. Besides, Seth did not ask him about it; he wasn't that interested in knowing. That became clear when Seth reacted to the new information with furrowed eyebrows and an expression that suggested he felt uncomfortable. As if it weren't enough, now Dean was looking at Seth, as if expecting a verbal reaction. What was there to say? "When I asked you if we should do something tonight . . . uhm . . ." Some kind of block was preventing him from being honest. "I did . . ." Another pause. "I did not mean like . . ." He was going to officially stop trying to clarify his original intentions, but then he realized he had to make himself absolutely clear. "When I asked if you wanted us to do something together tonight . . . I certainly did not mean –"

"Hey! Hey!" Dean interrupted him, shouting and holding his hands up in defense. "Neither did I. It's just a, you know, sudden realization," he explained. That was true. It's been about one and a half months since he broke up with Renee. Thoughts about that action and its consequences filled his mind often, yet the more practical side of it occurred to him only now. The last time he got intimate with someone was at the end of December, and it was with his then-girlfriend. Surely, he wasn't looking for a replacement – and he stressed it to Roman, especially – but . . . damn, it was already half of February and he got no action at all.

"Oh, okay," Seth replied, but the discomfort did not leave him.

"Have you?" Dean suddenly asked, with his eyes focusing on the guy standing in front of him.

Seth was necessarily avoiding an eye contact. His hands were in the pockets of his tight jeans – now he was realizing that they were maybe too tight – while his eyes stared at the floor. But Dean was posing his demands on him and Seth had to look up. In an abrupt, unfocused kind of way, he said, "Yeah."

"Cool . . . cool," Dean kept repeating casually, as though that answer did not interest him much anyway. He nodded. "So . . . ?"

"Tell me you're seriously not gonna open this topic. We're way too sober for that."

"No, no. No! I . . . I mean, I'm not interested in your sexual life."

"Good."

Dean was slowly regaining the confidence he lost because of the unfortunate topic he had chosen. Now he realized he didn't really care that much what Seth would think, and admitted the truth. "But I'm kinda interested in mine. And . . . there's not much happening there. To be completely honest, it's dead."

"Again, Dean, _way_ too sober . . ." told him Seth.

Now Dean stopped caring about Seth's sentiments and how uncomfortable was this conversation making him, and continued with revealing his concerns and desires. "It's been so long. And, damn it, I have needs."

"What do you expect from me? Seriously!"

"From you, nothing," Dean said to calm him down. "Don't worry. I'm just mentioning it because you asked about tonight . . . and, to be fair, there's only one thing I'd really wanna do."

"You could've just said that you've already made plans."

"But I don't have any," Dean cried, feeling really misunderstood. And desperate pretty much too. "It's Valentine's Day! I'm stuck in the United Arab Emirates, and my best prospects for tonight are going to bed early and get some sleep." Before causing any confusion he added, "And that's not what I wanna do."

"You wanna get laid?" Seth guessed.

Dean mimicked crying. "It's been 45 days. But it's not like it's gonna happen _here_." He sighed. "Dammit! I haven't seen woman's breasts since I stepped foot in this country. No cleavage, no low-cut tops . . . no butts!"

"You can always watch porn and masturbate," Set reminded him.

Dean stopped wining and put on a serious look. Then, two seconds later, he smiled. "I'm looking for something more interactive than that."

"I feel ya, but unfortunately you'll have to wait till we get home."

Seth's casualness over the topic perplexed Dean. He would suppose his buddy would feel similarly. Conditions were set that way: it was Valentine's Day and they were alone. Needless to say, they couldn't do anything about it. "I thought you'd be more irritated by having to spend this holiday by yourself. . . . Or you're enjoying being single?" Dean wondered if that were true. "You felt differently two months ago," he reminded him the Christmas Day break-down. Even before that, it was the day of Dean's birthday party, Seth found it difficult to be around two people so much in love.

"Two months ago," Seth stressed. Yeah, it's been a while. He would not spend forever stuck in that shitty period. Besides, it was the holidays that had taken its toll on his mood then. Now it was New Year, new plans, perfect job performance. The world was looking good. Prospects for future took pink shades as it was looking really bright at the moment, and there was no reason for it to change. Seth believed that there awaited positive change for Dean as well. "I went through what you're going through now. Trust me, it'll get better."

"It's great as it is," Dean said. "I just have this need to fuck the next person I see." That statement had too wide implication, Dean realized, so he narrowed it down. "But that person can't have a dick. . . That's what I'm bringing into the relationship," he joked.

Seth lingered on that poorly-chosen word, and Dean noticed the confusion he unintentionally caused. "You plan to start dating again?" Quiet and steady voice unveiled how Seth felt about it.

Fortunately, those were but spontaneous mistakes that existed only for Dean to avoid offensive language. "No. But I feel like I'm ready to start benefiting from being a single man."

"Really? It's been just one month."

"One and a half," Dean corrected Seth's liberal counting. But it wasn't just the time that has passed since the couple broke up, and Dean felt the need to stress the other – maybe even more important – factor too. "She hasn't quite turned to celibacy either. While I've been this year only with one woman – and I don't even mean sleeping with her – she's been with at least three guys. There may be more."

"You don't know if she's slept with both." He didn't, that was true. He took no interest in Greg or the other guy – the hockey player whose name he didn't even know.

"Look, _honestly_, I don't really want to know. My point here is, if she can go out with other people so shortly after we split, I can sleep with other women six weeks later."

"And you want to?" Seth posed a question with which he did not confuse Dean at all.

"Hell, yeah."

Seth should've formulated it differently, he realized, and tried again. "No. I mean, wouldn't it feel strange for you?" he raised his voice into a question even though he hasn't finished the thought yet. ". . . Won't you feel like cheating on her?" That was slightly better expressing Seth's concern.

Dean's furrowed eyebrows reflected the suspicion that Seth's question brought. "It won't be cheating," he said in a way that assumed Seth had forgotten and needed to be reminded of it.

"No, I know. But you've been together for . . . and now you're . . . you still love her," Seth started mingling different things so he ended up saying nothing to advance what was supposed to be something like an eye-opener for Dean. "It won't feel natural . . . probably."

Dean chuckled. "It's the most natural thing there is."

"Spending hours and days and weeks flirting with other girls until they surrender to you?"

First, Dean waited to see if Seth had more to say or that was really it, and then, after a-few-seconds-long pause, he superiorly looked at Seth, grinned, and said, "I don't know about _your_ strategy, but my game doesn't take _weeks_," he repeated what he heard, "to get going. What I do is walk up to her, smile at her, compliment her appearance, joke, do this shit, do that shit, and then _bam!_ . . . there she is, lying in my bed with her legs wide open." Seth would continue being taken aback by the straight-forwardness as Dean decided to reveal more. "I whisper something nice . . . she's calling out 'my' name," he said, adding the quotation marks to make it clear he wouldn't tell her his real name, ". . . the next thing I know, we're lying next to each other and I'm thinking of a way to get her out. Next, please!" Dean said. "Now, I know I haven't done it in a while, but I've still got it. . . . Say, there is a girl I don't know standing by the bar, ordering something. I'll get her to come with me before she gets her drink."

"That's not what I was asking," Seth quietly admitted, as he was embarrassed for failing at explaining himself clearly sooner and thus avoiding this detailed explanation of Dean's seducing game. But Seth quickly realized to get what he wanted he had to start playing the game Dean loved so much. Sarcastic, dominant, with a goal of devouring his opponent. "Consider this. You're there, fucking her, and then a picture of Renee pops into your head. What do you do?"

"Finish what I've started." Dean wouldn't let show any sign of weakness . . . on the outside . . . so Seth ended up as a loser regardless of the change in the game plan. But he succeeded in getting inside of Dean's head and planting that idea there. Dean knew that one thought about his ex-girlfriend could ruin the whole night for him. This thought led him to another one: has this ever happened to Renee? When she's with those other guys, does she ever think of Dean – intentionally or unintentionally? He would never find out, but he liked to think that he still occasionally appeared in her head.

In the end – even after he achieved victory – Dean decided to change the image that he created of himself. Those games he's been playing with Seth were fun, but they portrayed him as a jerk, and this time he did not feel like looking as one. "It's alright to move on, isn't it?" he posed a question at the beginning. "How long did it take for you to start sleeping around again?"

"I've never done that."

"Don't take everything I say literally," Dean advised him, being himself amused at how Seth took it for an insult. "And you know what I mean."

Seth sighed. He had to think about it first. "Well, it took longer than a month," he said, implying that Dean could wait a little longer.

"Alright, but that's different. Now, tell me when was the last time you had sex?"

Seth hesitated before answering, although this was an easier question.

"Yeah?"

"A couple of days ago?"

Dean couldn't hide how that impressed him. But before getting too cheerful, he wanted to know one more thing. "And before that?"

This conversation wasn't quite enjoyable for Seth, and he showed this by looking anywhere but directly at the person asking all those stupid questions. Still, he replied. "Look, would it be enough to say that in the past week – or before we came here – I had about five-times more sex than you?"

The corners of Dean's mouth jumped high as he was pleased by the new information. "Nice," he complimented his friend. "So you're back on track, huh?" Finally realizing Seth was not as keen on this conversation as himself, Dean concluded the topic, "But you see my point, don't you? I just really want to get laid." He supported what he saw not only as a desire but also a deep need by saying "I'd like to avoid awkward boners during a match . . . which would come at some point." And he said a bit more. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Wha- What?" Seth panicked.

"Look, at least I'm wearing jeans. . . . Okay, never mind. Let's just drop this topic. . . . So what was your question?"

"Was there a question?" Now Seth had no idea what Dean was talking about. He tended to jump from one topic into another without warning, and Seth sensed this was one of those times.

"You know," Dean explained, surprised that Seth struggled to understand, "That _what we're doing tonight_ thing. . . ."

"Oh, that! Yeah, I asked . . . like a million of years ago."

"So we're doing something?" Dean asked, ignoring Seth's comments. "I guess we're not really going out . . . we could hang out in my room – or your room – and watch something or play something. . . . ." suggested Dean. He had a vague idea, and to be fair, he didn't feel like doing either of those things.

"I think there's a bar downstairs." It wasn't that easy with alcohol but they could always drink coke."

"Um, yeah, I guess, we could do that."

"Or do you want to do something with other guys too?"

"No." What Dean kept hiding was his jealousy that still existed. Being alone with Seth proved not to be a problem because they discussed wrestling rarely and thus it did not feel as being with his opponent but rather a friend. When there would be other wrestlers involved, the anger would rise and envy would prevail all the other emotions, realizing he was fighting for the Intercontinental Championship while other guys either have been or got their chance to become the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. . . . Okay, to be fair, that sentiment was absolutely illogical since the only top guy there was John Cena. But another factor in his decision to reject the idea completely was that if he were surrounded by other wrestlers, he would begin to act like the gimmick Dean Ambrose as a result. So no, if he were to spend tonight with someone, it would be only with Seth.

"Alright then. Now the question remains whether we want to stay upstairs or go downstairs among people."

A thought flashed through Dean's mind . . . spending Valentine's Day – or night, really – in a hotel room with Seth Rollins . . . "We'll see what we can get in that bar," Dean made a decision.

Seth nodded, but his attitude differed from Dean who came to see it strange that two dudes would be together on a holiday of love. Then again, maybe he was thinking about it too much. . . . They should not have discussed the sex topic, Dean realized.

"Should we meet downstairs in, say, twenty minutes? I need to pack and get ready."

"Get ready?"

Seth hesitated. "Do my hair," he quietly explained due to feeling embarrassed.

Consequently, Dean laughed. "Okay. Why don't you just knock on my door when you're ready," Dean suggested. "I kinda have this feeling it's gonna take longer than twenty minutes."

Seth faked a laugh to show how he hated those sarcastic jokes, and then headed to his room that was on the same floor but on the other end of the hallway.

As Dean was already standing in front of his room, he simply entered. The bag that he's been holding until now, with all the dirty clothes that he wore during the match, landed on the floor to Dean's left. It was right next to his other bags that he brought to Abu Dhabi with him. He wasn't sure what having to pack meant for Seth, but Dean had all his stuff ready. When he went somewhere, he rarely unpacked, and this strategy proved convenient and really time-saving to him.

When it came to getting ready for going out, there wasn't much he could do and even less that he was willing to do. Even if it were a date, his preparation would consist of putting on clothes, shaking his head from side to side to allow his hair to shape naturally, grabbing the wallet, phone, keys, and he'd be good to go. The whole process would take no more than three minutes – and that too only in case he can't find something.

Now he had good twenty minutes. He knew that by teasing Seth about his taking too long he created a challenge for him, but Dean had perhaps too little trust in his friend and his time-management skills to believe Seth would come in less than twenty minutes.

The room was supposed to look cozy but it was simply empty. Cold. He never meant to spend there more time than necessary. In front of the wardrobe was where he kept his bags; all piled up and ready to go. The only sign of humanity rested on the table. His laptop was asleep – or probably completely off by now – and even it needed to be turned on so that the light would give out an impression that this room was in fact inhabited. Dean did exactly that – moved over to his laptop and turned it back on. Honestly, he had to find something that would bend the time perception for him. He sat down in front of it and waited until it gets into the state when he's able to use it.

While waiting, he heard a beeping sound coming somewhere from the left. He turned to notice the light of his phone that was on the other side of the room. It occurred to him that he had probably forgotten to take it to the arena with him and it's been here the whole time. But now that the laptop was on, he chose to pay attention to it and ignore what his phone had to say.

Not that much later, it beeped again. Irritated by the repeating sound, Dean stood up and went over to it. He remained standing in front of the desk, looking angrily at his phone, as if daring it to beep again. It did. Now Dean grabbed it and squeezed it in his hand, meaning to punish it for its acting without being given orders. But finally Dean checked the reason behind it. It wasn't a message, it wasn't a missed call. It was a notification. Calendar notification. It was set for about two hours ago so it's been probably demanding attention ever since then. But Dean never used those and he had no plans other than that wrestling show that already happened. However irrational it seemed to him, he read the text.

_Happy Valentine's Day, Titty Master. _

Various feelings were stirring inside of him. Was that supposed to be a joke? Was it serious? What the hell? Who took his phone and set this message? When?

Unfortunately, it didn't say more. Would his friends dare to do it to piss him off? No, he wouldn't believe that. It'd be useless, and it wasn't that funny or offensive either. . . . So it had to be her.

Dean dropped the phone and ran toward his laptop. He opened a couple of social media websites until he found her online on one. But still he waited before writing to her.

_Hi_, he wrote after almost two minutes passed.

Of course he got no answer. It would be strange to see her wanting to talk to him.

Besides, the deadline passed. He wasn't aware of this, but yesterday was the last day he was supposed to give her a reason for their break-up. With all the things going on, he forgot what he "promised." But maybe she was aware of it, and now that she got an impression that he had no interest in explaining his actions to her, she did not want to talk to him at all. She herself said to him that she didn't want to spend Valentine's Day thinking about him. He did not mean to contact her either . . . but there was the message. . . . Most certainly she did not program it in recent past. It had to be old, if indeed she was the one behind it, but it existed. And Dean wanted to know for sure if it was her who did it. . . . Not that it would make him feel any better.

_Renee? Please. I have only one question._

Still nothing. But she was still online so that was a good sign.

_Ten seconds, that's all I'm asking for_.

Now the answer arrived. _Ok._

_Thanks. So I got this message . . . or a notification or whatever. A Valentine wish. Is that from you?_

Her reply was short. _Lol_

_Ren, it was set as an event on my phone. It said "Happy Valentine's Day . . ." uhm, ". . . Titty Master." Did you set it? _

He realized that she probably did because she did not write anything back. Only after a couple of seconds – actually, maybe even minutes. _It's old. _

_So you did write it._

_Long time ago. Delete it, please._

_I'm not deleting it. _Dean thought before continuing with the conversation. All he knew was that since he managed to get her to talk to him, he would not let her leave soon. _Thank you_, he wrote. He gave her time to reply but she didn't. _Happy Valentine's Day to you too._ While his was ending, he realized that it was probably about lunch time for her. _You're busy?_ He asked. It was Saturday and it was Valentine's Day. She probably made plans. _You have a date tonight? _This became a one-way conversation that only he took part in. But she read it and that sufficed to him. _Is it with that hockey player guy? Or with someone new? _

_No._

_You can tell me, I don't mind_. That was a huge lie, but he wanted to know.

_I don't have a date tonight._

_Oh.___Dean wondered what was the reason. In order to find out, he played a you-deserve-better card. _If we were together, I wouldn't leave you alone on Valentine's Day_.

_If we were together, you'd still be in Abu Dhabi so you would leave me alone. _

Ok, so he didn't phrase it right. _But if I were anywhere in the States . . . as those guys are_. All was the way of finding out about her reason for being alone.

And finally she did reveal that information to him. _I'm not seeing anyone_.

A smile on Dean's face came as a natural reaction to the pleasing fact. But still, despite being happy, he wrote, _Sorry about that._

_Yeah. So I guess I'm gonna go now._

_Wait!_ He didn't want her to leave. He wanted to find out more . . . or just talk to her. He knew all he could get was chatting, but he wished to really _talk_ to her. It was always nice to hear her beautiful voice after a long day. And now it's been days since he heard her voice. He missed it. And – although it was hard to admit – he missed much more. It was Valentine's Day, for Christ's sake. He wasn't made of stone. Maybe before he wouldn't care, but after spending months being in a relationship, it was a bummer to be alone today.

While they were still together, it was probably in December, he thought about their future. It all interlocked with the whole marriage thing. It got him thinking . . . how they would be together, how they would get married, how they would spend holidays such as New Year's or Valentine's Day. Easter . . . his thoughts reached that far. Damn, he thought even about summer. There was a picture in his ahead about going away for a holiday, for a couple of days at least if they couldn't get a week off. They could go somewhere far . . . or to Hawaii. They could spend their summer holiday in the Caribbean . . . or go to New Zealand. The point was to go somewhere where they'd be alone and they could escape the curious eyes of the public. . . . Now he knew none of that would happen.

Today was such an average day. It didn't feel anything especial at all. And that was how he wanted it . . . until now. Until he saw the notification and realized it was from her. And now that he was talking to her he wished for more.

Finally he noticed the message from her. _What?_ He wondered how long ago she sent it because he got a bit distracted.

_You're still there?_ He asked.

_Yep_

However, those words that would keep her in this conversation did not come to him. Another pause came, and he had no idea how to fill the blank rectangle on the screen in front of him.

At least there was her to keep the discussion going. Maybe she had some interest in talking to him, after all. _What are your plans for tonight?_

He smiled when she wrote something on her own initiative. _I'm going out with Seth._

_Have fun, you two._

_I'd rather be with you . . . to be honest._

_I'm sure Seth's a good company_, she wrote. _Even for a Valentine's Day_.

_We're not doing anything Valentine-like. Just hanging out because we have nothing better to do._

_Sounds like fun. I'm doing nothing at all_, she revealed to him.

_. . ._

_What?_

Okay, it was impossible to understand was those dots were supposed to mean. It was just that he felt awkward asking straight. _Why did you break up with the last guy? . . . If you don't mind telling me._

_I didn't want to spend Valentine's Day with someone I don't exactly have feelings for._

_Oh, ok. So you're getting back together later?_

_No, lol. We're not. I think I'll stay single for now_, Renee admitted._ How about you? You're with someone?_

Clearly, she was just as curious as him. Until now, he thought only he was the one who wanted to know everything about her life even after they broke up. Perhaps she had the same necessity, he realized. _I'm not really interested in dating now. _To avoid being forced to discuss this topic further, he wrote, _But it sucks being single on Valentine's Day_.

_Don't tell me you really feel that way._

_Why? Because I'm not a romantic, sentimental kind of guy? Because I don't give a damn about love and don't like feeling loved?_

_Yeah, pretty much. _

He wasn't sure whether she meant it as a joke or it was a reflection of her being angry at him. _If you knew what I had planned for today. . . . _He came to regret sending that text.

_Picking up under-aged girls? _

_What?! _That was offensive. _No! _He calmed down. _And that's not what I meant at all. . . . I meant my plans with you._

_We didn't have any plans._

_We did, you just didn't know about them. _

_Dean, hearing about what could have been is the last way how I want to spend Valentine's Day. _He wasn't sure whether objecting would be a clever thing to do so he decided to remain silent, feeling embarrassed for bringing it up and offended for her refusal to listen about it.

_Well, it could have been incredible, _he wrote. He shouldn't have, but he did.

_Do you expect me to praise you for being such an amazing boyfriend? Because you've changed my opinion on you in the moment you decided to break up with me._

_Sorry. _He had nothing more to write. Dean even considered ending the chat and his whole activity online because he felt stupid and knew that Renee was getting mad at him. Now, that was the last way how he wanted to spend today . . . arguing with his ex.

But he remained logged in and waited for her to write more – as he knew she was typing. He anticipated angry comment, blaming him for everything. He got something unexpected. _What were we supposed to do today?_

He cheered up. He took a deep breath before typing the answer. _You'd wake up to a text from me. . . . Morning, angel. Happy Valentine's Day. . . . As I know the sound would wake you up, I would call you a minute later. That'd be before my match. I calculated it. _He waited if she wanted to react somehow. Then he went on. _An hour later, you would hear a knock on the door. That'd be the delivery for you. Roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates. My signature on top. In the bouquet you'd find a note. Yellow – the color of the roses_, he explained although it wasn't part of the note, _because red is too mainstream. Yellow because that's the color of the sun. And you are my sun. Without you my day is dark and grey – as is today because I can't be with you. Without you I'll wilt, as will these roses if you don't take such a good care of them as you do of me. You are my sun because one cannot live without the sun, and I can't live without you_. He should not have written that. Yes, it was all true, but it never really turned into reality. He was gonna do that, write those things, but he did something that prevented that from happening. And now he was telling Renee this as if it could make anyone feel any better.

_What's the point of this?_

There was no point. It was a simple mistake. He followed his instincts and revealed his never-realized plans to her because perhaps he thought they would be even more useless if nobody knew about them.

_If any of that is true, then you're the biggest asshole ever. _

He let her insult him. He was guilty of the crime she was accusing him of.

_Not only you're hurting me by saying what could have been, you're also proving that your breaking up with me was not part of the plan. Why else would you think about Valentine's Day? _ He was bored, that's why those plans happened. One day as he was lying in bed there was nothing to do so he was making future plans with his girlfriend. Nothing strange about that. Maybe it was a bit in a distant future, but that day would eventually come, he believed, so he better be ready. The only strange – and wrong – thing was telling her about it.

_If I were with you now, I'd kiss you. _Bold strategy. Strange, unexpected, but completely honest on his part.

As a result of this, it would not be surprising if she went offline, but she was still there. Not writing anything, but she was still online and he was pretty sure that she was fully focused on her conversation with him.

_I don't care we're not together_, he went on._ You deserve better than being alone on Valentine's Day. I know it's my fault and I'd make it right if I could. Even if I were in a different state, I would come and spend tonight with you. _

_Don't._

He wouldn't stop despite her begging. _It's true. Look, I've caused this. It was not supposed to happen, but you're all alone on Valentine's Day and it's my fault. It's my moral obligation to make it right. And it's not that I have to . . . I want to. If I could spend today with anyone, I'd choose you._

_Stop, Dean._

_If only those thousands of miles weren't preventing me from doing it. _

_Even if you were right next door, I wouldn't want it_, Renee told him, and hurt his pride.

_And if I said I want us to be together again?_

_I'd say no. _

Dean stopped watching the screen. He stood up and walked around the room for a while. He went toward the window and opened it to get some fresh air in his face. Then he closed it and took a breath. Out and in. In and out. He grabbed the phone that laid on bed behind him and hurried toward the laptop again. It wasn't Renee that interested him now. At least not the conversation with her. He opened google and searched for a flower delivery express, and in no more than three minutes he had what he wanted. A yellow-roses bouquet and a box of chocolates. 45 roses for each day they haven't been together. For each day he caused her pain. But he doubted she'd count them. . . . He considered the note. Repeating the words he already told her wasn't as big of a problem as was the fact that they were outdated. It would sound sarcastic so he better refrain from it. But maybe he could send her something that would not make her blood boil. It took a lot of time and effort to come up with something. It couldn't be offensive, it couldn't contain past memories or any emotions that would be considered inappropriate since they were not seeing each other anymore.

He heard a sound of her sending him a message. He switched tabs and read it. _I gotta go._

_No, you don't._

_Maybe not, but I have better things to do than chatting with you._

_Please, stay. I just need a minute for something. _

Without assurance that she'd be still there when he returns to the conversation, he looked again at the flower ordering website. He still needed that note. . . . That was difficult. He could send the simple _Happy Valentine's Day_. But no, he wanted to be more creative than that. Finally, he came up with something. _I don't care if this is inappropriate. I don't care if it makes me crazy that I want my ex-girlfriend to be my Valentine. Because, honestly, you still are my sun and I still can't live without you. _There he had it. And he really didn't give a damn about how morally wrong this was. If he can accomplish making her happy – even for one minute, make her smile – even for a second – it's worth it.

_I'm back_, he sent to her. His mind was filled with thoughts about how she will react when she sees those yellow roses, the box of chocolates . . . Suddenly he realized he forgot to include his name on the note. Well, she'll probably know who it is from.

There was no activity on her part. He worried. _Renee? Are you still there?_

_Dean, let's not do this._

_Do what?_

_Pretend we're friends. Pretend we care about each other._

_But we do_, he claimed. _And I want us to be friends too. _

_It doesn't work like that. _

_Why not? We could hang out sometimes. We like spending time with each other and we understand each other. I'd still like to talk to you. You're the first person that comes to my mind when I have good news and when I'm down you're the one I want to be with as well. _

_If any of that were true, we'd still be together_, she struck.

_So now you're gonna ignore me for the rest of your life because I let you down? _

_You don't make sense, Dean. I thought I understood you, but it seems to me that I was wrong. And you know what? It's probably for the best that things developed the way they did. Now I'm free to do whatever I want._

_I'm sorry you feel that way. _

_Why? That's what you wanted too, isn't it? Having break from being in a relationship . . . all the commitments. . . ._

Dean wondered how to feel about it. Especially about the part where she basically said she was glad to be freed from their relationship. Was it only the result of the break-up or did she feel suffocating even when they were still together? Would she even reply affirmatively to his offer to get married? A doubt whether he really knew her and whether everything had been working out intruded his mind. But at least he was reassured by the fact that there was no point in dealing with those issues.

_You're really glad we're not together?_

_I'm glad you showed your true face. And I'm glad there are no complications._

_What complications?_ He asked.

_None_. He was ready to let go, but then she added. _Not anymore._

_What are you talking about? What complications?_ He asked again.

_Nothing you need to worry about._

_Alright,_ he said, but he wasn't quite happy with leaving it like that. _But is there something I should know about?_

_Not really. _

_Is that your final decision?_ On the other hand, he wasn't going to dig into it either. He wasn't even sure if it concerned him or not. But he believed that if Renee chose to not talk about it, there was no need for it. She was quiet . . . figuratively, as the chatting window hasn't changed and there was no indication that she was typing either. _Renee? You're there?_

_Yes, it's my final decision_, she finally wrote.

_Ok. But tell me, honestly, is there really no way we could be friends again?_

_There are things you can't go back from._

_I see. . . . But still_, he started his defense, but he was too slow in finishing it. Maybe because he still had to come with the ending to that sentence. So while he was still typing his wishful strategy to get her to reconsider their friendship, she has already written her part.

_Like a miscarriage._

He was still writing the text, only a couple of seconds later he read what she has written. And at that moment his fingers froze. His heart started beating faster as his eyes earnestly stared at the screen. _What?_ He sent his reply with a delay. However, the time he took to grasp that information did not matter. Her reaction came regardless of it. She went offline.

"No! No! _No_!" he shouted. "Renee?!" he screamed her name as if she were a disobedient child that did something bad and needed to be punished.

He checked again whether she wasn't online. Then he looked at other websites and social networks but she was nowhere to be seen. "You can't leave just like that!" There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many explanations he needed to get from her. But she was gone. She chose the worst time possible to disappear. Dean jumped right up and ran toward the desk where he thought he had left his phone. It wasn't there. He was furiously looking around, but he couldn't see it. He paced around the room while failing the fight with is emotions. He was nervous; he was angry. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead and all the veins became more visible. The mad appearance could be compared to the one he had after someone cost him the match. Or after someone betrayed him. Except this was real and much more serious.

Finally he saw the phone. It was behind the laptop. He grabbed it and called her immediately. It was ringing but no one answered. "You can't ignore me!" he shouted. He called again and again. Still nothing. Until he heard a female voice telling him "The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable." "No!" he cried. Then he smashed the phone onto the floor. He yelled like a wounded animal, but that was not a response to the broken phone laying in the middle of the room.

He ran out of his room and sprinted toward the other end of the hallway. He kept incessantly banging on the door until Seth opened it.

Dean let himself in without formal invitation and forcibly closed the door – and almost hurt Seth in the process.

Seth stared at him for a few seconds, wondering what the hell was wrong, before nervously looking back at the screen of his laptop and hurriedly closing it in panic. He did not realize that his activity on the computer did not interest Dean in the slightest. His head was filled with his own problems; Seth could breathe freely.

None of the two guys found it strange that the other one was not ready yet although they agreed on going to the bar downstairs and they should have already left by now. They both got distracted and forgot about the plans. And Dean at least had no longer any interest in going to the bar.

Seth was ready to suggest that Dean sit down, but his mouth would not let out a single word. He was concerned. Dean kept pacing around the room; his breathing was loud, and so were his steps. His hands were covering his mouth and better half of his face that he started to massage. He was turned away from Seth, and Seth wasn't sure whether he should say something or wait for Dean to start explaining.

Then he stopped walking. He noticed Seth's phone laying nearby and grabbed it. Holding it tightly, he turned around and walked over to Seth just to force it into his uncooperative hand. "Call Renee," Dean urgently formulated his demands.

"You know how expensive the calls from Abu Dhabi to the States are?"

Dean's angry and not-minding-to-kill face made Seth regret the joke. "Not a good time, Seth," Dean said quietly, however, with frightening anger. "Not a fucking time!" he yelled. "Call her. Now!" he insisted.

Seth was legitimately scared. He never saw Dean this enraged. On the one hand, he did not dare to oppose him, but on the other hand, there was a doubt whether making that call would be a good idea for the exact same reason: Dean's mood. "Why?" Seth was brave enough to ask.

"Just do it," Dean commanded. "Call her." Dean would do it himself, but Renee would hang up immediately.

Seth found it difficult to swallow with those eyes staring deep into his soul. He felt like Dean's prey. "Ok." He took a breath and made that call. Dean's eyes kept watching him. A few seconds later Seth told Dean, quietly, still too afraid of ending up dead, "I think . . ." He had to swallow. "I think her phone is off."

"Dammit!" Dean shouted, and Seth jumped from pure fear.

_Calm down_, he wished to say to Dean, but he wasn't able of pronouncing those two words. Even asking what was going on was impossible for him right now.

Dean looked at the laptop. Maybe . . . "Check if she's online. Twitter, Facebook, Skype, anything! Go!" he yelled to hurry Seth. Now Seth was starting to feel like a soldier – no, worse, a servant . . . or a slave – and that was something Seth didn't like. Despite this, it was hard to protest when the person commanding you was holding an imaginary gun to your head.

Seth had his business on his laptop that he didn't want Dean to know about. Fortunately, Dean was in state where he paid no attention to details so Seth could close everything he did not want anyone to see and then go on to perform the mission he's been assigned. Dean wasn't really watching him checking those websites, in spite of his interest. Or maybe that was the reason. He so wanted it to happen that if he witnessed the failure he'd feel miserable.

"Sorry," Seth said after a while. "She's . . . not online." The feeling of despair finally arrived. Dean's whole angry attitude was falling apart. "I can send her an email," Seth suggested.

"Don't bother."

Now that Dean appeared calmer – and less dangerous – Seth found courage to ask. "What's going on?"

"That's between me and her."

That phone laying on the desk was hypnotizing Dean. He picked it up and called again. He hoped that if she saw Seth calling her, she'd answer. But, first of all, she turned her phone off so she had no idea, and second of all, even if she saw Seth calling her, she'd know it was all because of Dean. Fucking Abu Dhabi! If he were at home, he could talk to her in person. She couldn't hide from him. She couldn't ignore him.

Although her phone was still unreachable, he kept trying.

"Is it ringing?" Seth asked when he saw Dean with the phone still by his ear.

"No."

Then Seth got an idea. "Have you tried her work phone?"

That suggestion seemed to create a spark of hope. Dean ended the unsuccessful call – one of many – and started the process of getting in touch with her in a slightly different way. But he never got through with it. Nervously biting his lower lip, with feet stepping from side to side, he looked at Seth and handed him the phone. "You do it."

Seth accepted the task, and he was glad that this time Dean did not yell it in his face. He called. When he heard it ringing, he smiled, and as a result Dean did too. But then it failed. Seth looked at Dean with sympathy. Their faces saddened again.

Dean wouldn't give up. "I can call Roman and tell him to call her. Or somebody else. Summer! Or Natalya. Or Stephanie! She can't decline a call from her boss," Dean thought out loud.

Maybe there was something about it, but Seth's logical thinking would not persuade him that this strategy would be that much more successful. "So you call them and they call Renee. But do you really believe she'll then call you? Apparently, she doesn't want to talk to you, Dean. I'm sorry."

"Well, she _has_ to!"

"Why? What happened?" Seth asked. Dean would have to tell him. He can't just be upset or angry without acknowledging why.

"I don't know," he said, sitting down, putting his head in his hands.

Seth didn't want to get into something he wasn't – and didn't have to be – part of. But seeing Dean desperate . . . it was hard for him to just sit there and watch. Do nothing . . . ask nothing. "You can talk to her tomorrow . . . or on Monday," he attempted to say something soothing to make Dean feel better. But Dean had to be aware of those options, and those things he wanted to talk about with Renee clearly couldn't wait.

"I need to talk to her _right now_," he stressed. He again grabbed Seth's phone to send a message to her work phone – the phone he knew she wouldn't turn off. But as he saw a keyboard in front of him, he didn't know what to write. First attempt was typing _We need to talk. Now._ But he erased that. _Call me_. Wrong again. _What happened?_ Nah, he didn't like that either. Dean looked in front of him abstractly, hoping to get an idea. Seth thought Dean was looking at him and started to feel intimidated again, but Dean didn't give a damn about him; Seth just happened to be in the way. Nervousness returned. Dean's fingers were tapping on the screen of Seth's phone. Then his eyes as well focused on the object he was holding in his hands. That brought discomfort to Seth. Again, Dean was violating his privacy. And he had a good reason to be worried; at least he thought so. But Dean was only watching the screen, the space where he would type the message if he had any in his mind; some private messages or secrets that Seth wanted to keep were safe.

"Could you give me my phone?" Seth asked, making Dean look up. The anger in his eyes suggested that Dean still felt too passionate to be taken lightly. Seth's fear still existed. "Ok," he surrendered, and let his friend – or more like a fiend – keep the possession.

Dean returned to staring at the screen. Suddenly he felt there did not exist a message that would be good enough. What's more, he couldn't make her respond if she didn't want to. He couldn't make her talk to him.

One of those sudden rushes of courage enabled Seth to speak up. "Ok, what the hell's happened?"

"I've told you."

"No, you didn't. You said 'I don't know.' If you didn't know, you wouldn't be this angry."

"Well, _I_ don't know," Dean replied quite loudly.

"Then why the hell are you acting like this?"

"Because she doesn't want to talk to me!" Dean shouted as though it was supposed to be clear to everyone.

"To be fair, it's Valentine's Day. And ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend is not exactly the person you'd want to talk to that day," Seth came with an explanation that could only embitter Dean.

"Oh, fuck off!"

"You're not the nicest company either. . . . Why don't you calm down? Take a deep breath," Seth suggested, "sit down, put the phone away, and tell me what happened. Or the part you know," Seth added when he realized Dean's _I don't know_ was the most probable – and at the same time most annoying – reaction.

Dean did take a deep breath. He did put the phone down. But he still stood there, his mind flooded with unanswered questions. Her abrupt ending to their conversation annoyed him again. His breathing would not slow down and he would not calm down either. The rage would not disappear by conscious breathing. His mind had no control; everything was overseen by his body. His animal instincts told him what to do. He lifted his right arm, formed a fist, and punched the wall in front of him.

Subsequently, the pain arrived. Blood appeared on the knuckles. His body thought this action would relieve the mental pain. The anger. Well, it did moderate the temper. But the situation hasn't change at all. He needed to talk to her and she kept ignoring him.

Now he turned around. He saw the open mouth of Seth that expressed bewilderment, confusion . . . shock. Fear.

"I'm gonna go to my room now," Dean told him. "If she calls, tell her I need to talk to her. Urgently. Got it?"

Seth nodded.


End file.
